


The Last Dragon and the She Wolf

by DillyDilly45



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Game of Thrones RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-10 18:54:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 47,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12305529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DillyDilly45/pseuds/DillyDilly45
Summary: my take on rhaegar and lyanna, how they met, and the events that led up to Robert's rebellion.  i know g.r.r.m doesn't like fan fics but i am tired of waiting for WoW and need something to pass the time. missed a chapter when uploading, chapter 8 was different from what was originally posted but it is fixed now. feel free to comment





	1. Chapter 1

He moved silently through the trees, following the hastily covered tracks before him. While whomever had covered them in the beginning had done an impressive job, the deeper they retreated into the godswood, the less hidden they became and he found himself following the path of broken twigs and reeds quite easily. There was a faint sound of movement in the distance. He would have this knight soon enough.

His father had ordered him to search the wood for this knight and bring him back to face the king’s justice. If it had not been his father, he would have laughed at the very thought of the “king’s justice”. But it is his father and so he keeps his peace. In the end it mattered little. He would have volunteered to seek out this knight, if for no other reason than to save him from the king’s justice. More than likely this knight was nothing more than one of the small folk or some lord’s young son who wished to make an appearance or impression upon the tourney. Something to remember when they spoke of the tourney of Harrrenhal. Every tourney had one, some story that moved into legend, immortalizing some fantastic feat that may or may not have been so impressive at the time. No doubt by the end of this day, the knight will have been as tall as the northern wall with a voice that boomed throughout the woods. He will have bested the three houses in the name of chivalry and honor and all of the maidens swooned at once. Yes, every tourney had one story to come of it.

But then none of that mattered for he would still have come searching. With his father’s state of mind becoming more and more paranoid of late his reaction to the mystery knight was easily predictable and he would not see some innocent, albeit somewhat foolish boy (lord’s son or no), be put to death for over confidence.

And in truth he could not help but feel responsible for the predicament the boy was in for this tourney would not have even happened if not for his own involvement. Lord Whent had wealth, but it was mainly from the richness of the land. He had aided the lord in funding the tournament in an attempt to gather many of the lords of the land together in one place in hopes of a sort of impromptu council. His father’s already unstable condition had become increasingly erratic of late with ramblings that caused a cold streak of fear to enter his heart. Something would have to be done. But not today. His father had surprised everyone with the decision to attend and no matter how extreme, he would not call a council under his own father’s nose. The pain he felt from contemplating such treasonous actions grieved him enough.

And so he took on the task of finding this young lord to help him, feeling partly responsible for creating the mess he was in in the first place.

He had to admit that even he had enjoyed the little display. In the end after the knight had bested all those he challenged, he turned away his winnings, insisting instead that the lords teach their squires manners. An all-around noble, if not amusing endeavor in his opinion. He and Arthur had a good smile at that.

But then this knight did not know his father or else he may have reconsidered this dangerous game he had chosen to play.

“FUCKING HELL!”

A voice from the woods snapped him from his reprieve and he crouched down instinctively. It had come from somewhere before him and if he looked hard enough he could hear the sound of movement ahead and the occasional shadow dart between the trees.

He chided himself for his inattention and stayed low, one foot carefully placed in front of the other, approaching silently. He could only assume it was the knight and he did not wish to startle them to take flight. Although he was confident in his assessment that this would nothing more than a young boy, barely into manhood, chasing them through the godswood was not what he wished to do today. And so he approached carefully so that he may appraise the situation.

As he moved closer he noticed the movement between the trees became more unusual, bordering on the bizarre. It seemed to be a flailing, spasmodic motion and then suddenly stopped and the woods became still once more. He stopped moving forward when the motion stopped, not wanting to make any noise that could not be mistaken for the ruckus the knight was stirring up. He could hear what he could only discern as grumbling coming from in front of him.  Another burst of movement from the knight allowed him to move forward to a tree to stand behind so that he could risk a look.

The knight sat with his back to him and leaned back against a tree, random pieces of armor littering the ground around him. A hand reached up to rake through long dark braided hair. He noticed how small the hand was and felt that his earlier assessment was true. This was nothing more than a boy wishing to make an impression.

He suppressed a sigh at the same time the boy sighed out loud and his brow furrowed. The sound was of a high pitch. He must be a young boy indeed. Barely out of youth. He smiled in spite of himself.

_Brave indeed, perhaps I could take him as a squire. His skills on a mount were impressive._

He had barely formed he thought when the boy suddenly rolled back, his feet stiff in the air in an attempt to reach them.

He would have laughed outloud, but he did not wish to shame the boy. Instead he decided he would announce his presence and allow the boy to gather himself accordingly.

“Are you in need of assistance ser?”

As he spoke he stepped out from the shadows where he stood and found he was not prepared for what he saw.

The figure before him had rolled quickly around and onto their knees and was staring wide eyed with shock up at him and he could not help but mirror the reaction.

It was not a young boy at all but a young woman. A young woman of the north. One of the wolves of the north. He knew her of course. He knew all of the high lord’s and their kin. It was his responsibility to know these things.

This complicated matters naturally. Yes, this complicated matters very much.

 

* * *

 

 

She bit off a curse as she struggled with the armor. It was awkward and ill-fitting and she could not reach the bloody clasps on the side of the chest plate. She had struggled with the gauntlets for what felt like an eternity. Where the hell was Ben? He was supposed to have been here by now. What in the bloody hells could be taking him so long? She would have moved down to unfasten her leg guards but the damn bloody chest plate was in the way!

“FUCKING HELL!”

She did not bother to bite off the curse this time and dropped to the ground in a frustrated and slightly defeated huff. She leaned back against the large tree that had been designated as their meeting place and started to giggle. How ridiculous she must look, spinning around in circles like some cur chasing its’ tail, trying to reach the clasps on the breast plate. She rested her head back, looking up through the canopy of trees above as the sun created so many pinpricks of light that danced down around her. The warmth felt good upon her skin. At least it felt good upon the skin that was exposed. This caused another overwhelming feeling of frustration and, as if in some sad desperate attempt to free herself by throwing a fit, she thrashed her arms and legs like a child and fell into another bout of laughter.

With a sigh she looked back to the deep green leaves of the trees and the deep blue of the sky that peaked through the clouds. Everything here seemed so much brighter to her eyes even though her brothers talked of it being a dark and decayed place. And to some extent that was true. When her father’s men first approached, she had been in awe of the great castle. From a distance the five towers seemed just as formidable as their names. But as they came closer she could see that much of the keep had fallen into disrepair and looked to be abandoned, helping to enhance the lonely and desolate reputation that proceeded it. It seemed to be too great a presence for any one lord to contain to her. It was not made for love or families, but pride.

But the godswood here, oh the godswood here was overwhelming! It was regarded as a dark place as well but she did not see it that way, she could not. What a magnificent realm for the old gods. Dark gods they must have been but still magnificent. The godswood at home were only a small portion of this and although she had heard it was terrifying, she had a great desire to see the weirwood heart tree here. Even though it was said that nothing but blood came to those who did. She was not frightened though. But whether that was because she was brave, stubborn, or simply angry could be argued.

Where the in the seven hells was her brother? What could be holding him and Howland up for so long? They should have been here by now. She felt a moment’s apprehension when the thought of their little ruse being discovered came across her mind. But surely that was not the case. They had covered their tracks to well. Always making sure that one of them was seen or accounted for. It had not been that difficult for her, barely a mention of moon’s blood and that was enough to send everyone scrambling with reassurances that she would be missed at the joust but that they understood.

_Men_ , she thought smugly, _so simple_.

Things had gone shockingly according to plan, as rushed as it was. She had been infuriated when she had seen the three houses of those snot nosed, rotten little squires win places in the tourney and was incensed when she heard them bragging about it. Braying like asses in the yard as if they had accomplished the deed and not their masters. No, that simply could not stand. She would not allow it.

Acquiring the armor had been surprisingly easy, even though it was a ragtag, patchwork attempt. But it would do. And she had insisted that she be the one to carry out the challenge. It was only right. She had been the one to discover their misdeeds in the first place. And besides, Ben was too young yet, and the repercussions had the potential to be far worse from their father if he were to be discovered. Not that their father would go any easier on her, but he would be more likely to hide their reckless behavior. Three grown men discovering they were bested by a young woman and not a knight. It would not look good for the impending nuptials either. Not that she minded that one bit.

She felt a small pang of guilt at that. Her father had worked long and hard to see that she was well matched with a house that would do her and her family honor. And her brother was quite close with her betrothed, and held him in high regard.

But it did not change the fact that she did not love him. Though, from what she has been told, many matches do begin in this way and many bloom into something quite wonderful. Unfortunately she did not see it, and when she tried to broach the subject with her elder brothers, they simply made sport of it at her expense and told her that there is no such thing as the perfect union and none they had ever heard of had entered in to a successful marriage based purely on love. Although her brother Ned did gently try to reassure her that Robert would change once married. She did not believe him.

But she had not been discovered, nor would she be, if her damn younger brother would ever show. And so she pushed down the feelings of guilt and grinned with satisfaction as she remember the yelps of those rotten arrogant little squires as they were rightfully punished.

She looked back down at her still armored feet and let out another sigh. She raked her fingers through her hair that was still bound back in a loose braid. Her head itched from sweat when she was wearing her helm and she could not wait to rinse off in the cool waters of the Gods Eye. Where in the name of all that was holy is her damnable brother and the bloody crannogman? She needed their help to get out of this pathetic wreck of armor.

She reached out towards her foot, arms straining to reach the clasp but inhibited by the chest plate. Her foot involuntarily raised in an attempt to bring the clasp closer but only resulted in her rocking backwards and her legs going up in the air like some pond turtle stuck on its’ back.

With a loud groan, she dropped her legs heavily to the ground. She would never get out of this. While she may rule from the back of a horse, she was nothing short of comical when on the ground. She filled her lungs with air and prepared to let out a litany of curses upon her brother when a voice from the trees behind her startled her.

“Are you in need of assistance ser?”

Her eyes went wide and she rolled onto her side to push herself up on her knees. While she prayed fervently that it would be her brother that emerged from the shadows, the sickening sinking feeling in her chest told her otherwise. The voice was too deep, to mature to be Ben’s or even Howland’s. And when the figure finally did emerge, the sickening feeling intensified to the point she thought she may sick up.

The man stood before her wore black as night with dark blood red embroidery adorning the edges of long jerkin and along the hem of his cloak. A long sword hung at his waist and the image of a dragon was across his chest.

It was his Royal Highness Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, Prince of the Dragonstone, the Silver Prince, the Dragon Prince, son and heir to King Aerys II Targaryen.

Lyanna was uncertain if things could possibly get any worse.        

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

“May I be of some assistance?”

His voice broke through the stunned silence between them. Lyanna merely blinked. They had stood there staring at each other for what had felt like an eternity to her.

He had been surprised when he had discovered her, of that she was certain. The shock on his face from finding a girl in the woods and dressed like a penny beggar of a knight was most inappropriate to be sure. But the look of surprise had quickly vanished and he now considered her with an indecipherable expression.

Lyanna on the other hand, had stared in what she knew was open terror. She was discovered. And by Prince Rhaegar no less. There was no doubt in her mind that she would be brought before the king. Her father will have to answer for her as well and more than likely have to make some recompense to the knights she unseated. And her brothers, oh they would be furious. They and her father would be mocked and ridiculed. No one would care about the why of her actions, however honorable. The shame and humiliation she has brought to her house will follow them for years, for generations. 

For a moment Lyanna briefly thought of running. Of scrambling to her horse and trying to out ride him through the woods. It was a foolish thought of course and would never happen. She could not even stand up in this damnable armor and he would be on her in seconds. There was nowhere she could go.

But then he spoke and her look of terror became unsure and wary.

“Pardon?” her voice came out a pathetic rasp to her ears.  

“You seem to be having some . . . difficulty, with your armor. I thought, perhaps you may be in need some assistance.”

Lyanna’s eyes narrowed slightly. Now what was the purpose of this? He was offering to help her? Or was he simply toying with her before dragging her to his father?  She tried to discover some hint of his intent in his face, but if there were some ulterior motive she could not tell. It could be that he did not know who she is, although it was quite obvious who he was. Even if the silver hair did not give him away the great red dragon across his chest would clue one in rather quickly. But she on the other hand was not wearing any sigils of her house, and there were many lords here. Many lords with their families, and banner men with their families, and small folk and their families. If there was some way Lyanna could slip out of this without the involvement of her father and brothers, then she would take it. She would play the submissive and pray he would think she was some farmer’s daughter.

With the help of the tree next to her, she pulled herself somewhat awkwardly up to her feet and lowered her head in deference, staring at the ground.

“I thank you your Grace, but you need not trouble yourself. I am quite capable and I am sure that my brother and his man will be along any moment now . . . your Grace.”

She winced at the feebleness of her response but she hoped that the mention of her brother’s impending arrival might change his mind on whatever little game he was trying to play and he would simply leave.

“Mmmm, your brother,” he replied thoughtfully, “I am afraid that he will be unable to meet you.”

Lyanna’s head snapped up to see the prince looking casually down at his hands as he tugged at his gloves. Had Ben been discovered as well?  She spoke without thinking. It was an unfortunate habit.

“Why? What has happened? What has been done?” the submissive tone was noticeably absent.

“No, no forgive me, nothing has happened,” he interrupted, realizing the error of his words. “It is just, as you more than likely know, the tourney today seemed to result in some extra excitement. Now as a result there seems to be a bit of a hunt going on. No one is to enter the woods except on the king’s business. So I doubt he will be coming to the godswood today.”

Upon hearing that Ben was fine, Lyanna’s heart calmed only to begin to race once more when the prince mentioned a hunt and the king’s business. Even though the air was cool she could feel herself starting to sweat.

“Tourney’s are always exciting your Grace. I can’t hardly imaging this one being any different.” She had always been terrible at feigning innocence. This time was no different.

“On the contrary, this one was exceptional. You see, there was the entry of a mystery knight who managed to unseat three others. That is not all that uncommon of course, but what made it exceptional is that the knight did not seek the usual rewards. Instead, he only asked that each of the knights he unseated simply teach their squires honor.” As the prince spoke he glanced casually about the small clearing, taking in the horse and few pieces of discarded armor that Lyanna had managed to remove, till his gaze finally rested on the shield, lying face down upon the ground.

Lyanna’s mind raced and her heart pounded causing a dull throbbing noise within her ears.  She felt a faint gnawing sensation that she recognized as annoyance in the back of her mind. She needed to find a way out quickly.

“That is very fascinating your Grace, thank you for informing me. But since my brother is not going to be able to make our meeting, perhaps it is best if I return to my father’s camp . . .”

Lyanna turned hastily and attempted to grab the shield on the ground and make for her mount, and if she had not still been the majority of her armor she would have succeeded. But she _was_ still in her armor and bending was _not_ as simple as it would have been if she could freely bend her knees. She quickly lost her balance and lurched forward and would have fell in an ungraceful lump onto the ground if something had not stopped her fall. She grabbed at it instinctively to regain her balance only to look up and find dark indigo eyes staring down at her. One arm supported her back as the other held on to her waist while she grasped his shoulders. They were so close that had someone walked in on them at that moment they would have thought they had stumbled upon lovers wrapped in an embrace.

“Please,” he said, “allow me.”

Lyanna quickly dropped her arms and held them stiffly at her sides as he sat her down. She watched as nimble fingers deftly began to unfasten the clasps to the armor around her legs. She studied him warily as he worked. What was the purpose of all this? Was he going to haul her off or not? He removed the lower leg and foot coverings and set them to the side, moving to the other leg. Lyanna would be lying if she denied feeling some sense of relief. The air felt wonderful against her skin.

She continued to scrutinize his face. It was said he was an honorable man, not cruel or mad like his father. The little she had heard of the prince is that he would be a far better king than the current. Lyanna had thought that must be a terrible burden to live with, the knowledge that you are far more capable but unable to act. But then of course she had often thought the same of herself.

She had also heard he was handsome. Quite handsome. Beautiful actually. And she had to agree. Lyanna thought that he looked young up close. He appeared to be older than Ned, though not by much. She had seen him at the feast, but it was from a distance as he sang. A beautiful song that resulted in Ben being put in his place for his rude comments. If weren’t for the fact that she was so frightened that she almost pissed herself she would have appreciated him more. But now was not really the time. Her mouth tilted into the tiniest hint of a frown. She needed to focus on getting out of her current situation and not the line of his pretty face, although just how she would accomplish that was beyond her.

The prince removed the second of her leg covers and set it down next to the other. He then turned back and, reaching between her legs, moved up to the inner part of her thigh. Lyanna gasped and snapped her legs shut, scurrying backwards and away towards the small sword she had discarded earlier next to the tree. Prince or no, he had no business there. Was this his plan all along? The dutiful married prince in public and a lecherous fiend in private?  She grabbed the sword and held it up. She no longer cared who stood before her or that she could be put to death for her actions. No man would take her in that manner against her will. He was stronger and would be able to restrain her eventually, but she would mark him well in the process.

Prince Rhaegar did not follow her and restrain her though. Instead, he held his hands up in placating manner.

“My lady please, I apologize for my impropriety, but the clasps are . . . they are . . . there and, well, I cannot remove them otherwise.”

Lyanna held the sword between them and realized he was right. The clasps were at her inner thigh. Had she not just scolded Ben this morning for being a ninny about fastening them on his sister? She began to feel very foolish. Now she had two marks against her, impersonating a knight AND threatening the life of the crown prince. Wonderful. Simply wonderful.

“I should have warned you of my actions of course,” the prince offered, “it was highly presumptuous of me to attempt something so familiar.”

Lyanna looked to his face and thought she saw something close to amusement flash in his eyes. The thought of him laughing at her seem to steel her spine a bit more and she dropped her sword. This was worse than dealing with her brothers.

“Yes you should have,” she answered coolly.

“If you would prefer to do this yourself I understand -” The prince began to stand when Lyanna interrupted him.

“No,” she practically yelped . She pressed her lips into a tight line and almost growled out loud. She could not reach the clasps and Benjen would not be making it out to meet her. He was her only hope to be free of this armor. She clenched her teeth and softened her tone.

“No,” she said again, “that will not be necessary now that I know your intention. You must forgive . . . me . . .your grace. For my own presumption.”

The prince merely inclined his head in response but Lyanna was certain she saw a flash of amusement behind his eyes.

He knelt down once more before her and carefully reached for the clasp. Her eyes never left his face and while she had dropped her arms to her side, she still held her sword. If he noticed he gave no sign, although he did speak.

“You are of house Stark yes? In the north?” he inquired casually as he worked.

 _Oh bloody hell,_ she thought.

“Yes, your Grace. He is my father,” she answered flatly.

“Your father?” the prince looked up surprised, “Lord Stark of Winterfell is your father?”

“Yes your Grace.”

“I see. So that would make you Lady . . . ?”

“Lyanna, your Grace, Lyanna Stark.”

“So, Lady Lyanna Stark,” he removed the leg armor from her thigh and moved to the other, “if I may ask, how is it that you have come to the godswood?”

 _And so now we come to it_ , she thought.

“Oh, why I wished to see the weirwood tree,” she answered innocently. “I heard that it was a sight to behold. A true testament to the old gods. And so I thought I would ride out. Here. To see it.”

She fought the urge to wince as she spoke. It was what she had planned to say to her father if he found her leaving the camp unaccompanied. He would allow her to go as long as she was not alone and so Benjen had planned to be conveniently nearby when asked. But they had been able to slip out undetected and so its use was not necessary. Now that she had actually put it to voice, it sounded ridiculous to her ears. How could it not given the current circumstances.

But if the prince was bothered he did not show it. He removed the last of the leg armor and moved on to the chest plate.

“If I may?” He gestured to the clasp under her arm.

“Oh yes, of course.” She lifted her arm up so he could reach the clasp unobstructed.

“So,” he mused, “do you often explore the woods in full armor?”

Lyanna glanced at him from the corner of her eye but his face was hidden behind a curtain of pale hair.

“The armor, yes, well that you see oh -” she stopped as the prince, having finished his current task moved across her body, practically on top of her, to better reach under her other arm for the last set of clasps. He was very, very close. Lyanna raised her other arm as he continued. “Um, well the godswood at Winterfell can be a perilous place in the best of times so I thought it would be best to be prepared.”

She did wince this time. She sounded absurd.

The prince straightened up and stared down at Lyanna from where they knelt in the clearing. Lyanna forced herself to meet his gaze steady on, refusing to blink, no matter how terrible her story was. Her chin lifted up slightly in challenge and she dared him to contradict her.

And he would of course. He did not believe her. He could not believe her. How could he believe her? He was going to take her in now, to answer for her feckless behavior. It was ludicrous for her to think that she could get away with what she had done.

The finality of her situation was finally closing in on her when the prince reached down and held the bottom of her chest plate.

“Could you lift your arms please,” was all he said.

Lyanna blinked. She slowly raised her arms and the prince then pulled the armor up and over her head. Lyanna felt wonderfully lighter. The tunic she wore underneath was stuck to her skin from sweat and she pulled out and away from her torso so the cool air could reach her. She stood up and began to twist around, her hands resting on the small of her back as she stretched tired and constricted muscles.

“Ah,” she sighed, “by all the old gods that feels good!” She gave a small laugh as she reached up above her head and stretched some more. “I was beginning to think I would never -”

She stopped suddenly, remembering who it was she was talking too. She looked down to see that the prince still knelt on one knee before her, watching silently. She dropped her arms quickly to her sides and began to slowly inch away.

“I thank you, your Grace for your assistance,” she said dropping down into a more proper semblance of a curtsy, although she more than likely still looked foolish because she was in breeches, “your help has been greatly appreciated and I am grateful but as I am free now and there is a brigand in the wood, perhaps I should take my leave. With your blessing of course.”

She had continued to move backwards, towards her mount as she spoke, grabbing at the random pieces of armor that littered the ground as she moved. Once she was close to her horse she made for the bag hanging from the mare’s side and pulled out an over skirt and began to stuff armor in its place. The prince had remained still as she moved, but once she reached her mount he stood up.

“Lady Lyanna,” the prince called from behind her, “I cannot allow you to leave just yet.”

Lyanna froze and her heart sank. She stood at the side of her horse, hidden from the prince’s view. For the briefest of moments, her hand hesitated over the hilt of her sword. She could fight him. She would not best him but she could fight him, do enough to run at least. It was madness of course. He knew who she was, who her father was. She would be found and she would most certainly be punished. But then Lyanna was not known for her rational thought process. She spoke without moving from the side of her horse.   

“And why is that.”

“Because, at the moment, I am the only one who can help you.”

Lyanna slowly walked around her horse. To say the look she gave the prince was incredulous would be an understatement.

“Help me?”

The prince stared back at her, his head tilting slightly. “You have no idea the events your actions have set into motion do you?”

The prince walked over to Lyanna’s horse and took the shield that hung from the saddle and turned it over and studied the white tree with the laughing red face painted on it. Lyanna’s jaw clenched.

“The king has declared the mystery knight an enemy and traitor to the crown. He demands that the knight be found and brought forth for the king’s judgement. I believe it is safe to say that the king’s judgement will quickly become the king’s punishment. I was sent to find this knight. Not that I am the only one searching, others have ventured into the godswood, Ser Robert Baratheon and Ser Richard Lonmouth to name a few . . .”

As he spoke the look of disbelief slowly turned into a look of horror with each word. And when he mentioned Robert her knees almost gave out.

“No,” she gasped, “that was not my intention!” Without realizing it, she reached out and grabbed the arm of the prince in desperation. “I never meant for that to happen!  I simply wanted those ill-bred little whelps to be held accountable for their insolence and lack of honor. I am no enemy to the bloody crown! I could care less about the bloody crown! The crown had nothing to do with this! I should go to the king, explain to him what had happened and why I did what I did. I will tell him and then he will see, he will –”

She was interrupted by hands on her shoulders and looked up to find violet eyes staring down at her once more.

“I believe you. But you must believe me when I tell you the king will not, and if you leave the woods now you will be discovered and taken before him. You must let me help you, which means you must do as I say. Can you do this?”

Did she even have a choice?

“Yes. Alright. What must I do.”

The prince hands slowly released her shoulders as he considered the pack that was stuffed with armor that hung from her horse.

“You cannot return to your encampment just yet, and if you could you could not have this armor on your person anyway. We will have to rid you of this of course . . . I will take it deeper into the godswood so it will not be easily found and then return. You will –“

“Be going with you. I will not allow you to go deeper into these woods alone, especially since this is all because of my doing. I will be able to return tonight once it is dark. It is not uncommon for me to be gone into the evening,” she looked up at the prince, “This is my fault. It is not your responsibility to do this by yourself. The last thing I need is for something to happen to you and that be on my conscience as well.”

The prince said nothing, only looked at her, his expression unreadable while Lyanna’s dared him to tell her otherwise. After what seemed like an age, the prince graced her with a small but still beautiful smile.

“Well then my lady, it seems you are going to be able to see the weirwood tree after all.”


	3. Chapter 3

The forest was becoming dark and more dense the further in they traveled. The trail began to take on a soft, spongy layer of bright green moss as ferns and great tangles of roots caused the path they followed to narrow and fade. The trees had become so numerous that they almost seemed to press in towards them, shutting out the sun. The trees of the godswood at Winterfell were hard and forbidding, made solemn after weathering thousands of unrelenting winters. They did not curve and bend in great sweeping waves the way the willows and elm did here. Nor did they reach the heights of the redwoods or brush the ground with broad, massive branches that were draped with moss and dotted with mushrooms and tiny blooms as the great oaks around her.

Every so often Lyanna would sneak a look at the man who walked along the other side of her horse. Talk had been minimal so far as they made their way through the wood, so focused he was on the task at hand.

His Grace, Prince Rhaegar Targaryen. How had she come to this?

She felt a pang of guilt at her suspicious nature. The prince had been had been nothing but respectful as far as she could tell. After they had come to the agreement that she would be accompanying him she had decided she needed to change. She had sweat through the tunic she wore and it was beginning to itch and irritate her skin. She had packed a shift and an over dress that was split and cut for riding and, as one who is accustomed to living with four brothers, she moved to the opposite side of her mount and began to shed the offending garments in favor of the fresh ones. When she had finished, she looked over to find the prince had turned his back to her while she changed. Had this been under different circumstances, Lyanna would have laughed out loud. Instead she found herself working out just how swiftly she could mount and ride off before the prince could intervene. She knew she could too. His head would barely turn towards his shoulder before she would be gone. Once in the saddle none could catch her, save Domeric, and that was simply out of sheer luck as far as Lyanna was concerned.

Her eyes had remained on his back as her hand tightened around the reins. He did not turn. Her other hand moved to the back of the mare’s neck. He still did not turn. She watched him as he stood there, his back to her, looking up to the trees as he fidgeted with the hem of his tunic. She watched as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his hands making the same aimless motion. His head would tilt slightly, but never turn. 

He was waiting for her to give him permission.

All she had to do was climb into the saddle. Not even completely, just one foot into the stirrup was all she needed to be off. She watched him as he looked everywhere except behind him.

Her grip on the reins relaxed as her other hand fell away from the mare’s neck.

The trail had become increasingly faint the further they went. So much so that Lyanna was about to question the wisdom of continuing when suddenly the trail opened up once more and Lyanna found herself in a clearing with a small stream, and in its center, a weirwood tree.

She had heard stories, long rambling tales spun by old Nan that spoke of the First Men and the Children meeting beneath the heart tree at Harrenhal, before there was a Harrenhal even. Her brothers had given her descriptions as well during the journey here. Speaking of a terrifying face filled with hatred and how no good would come to any who looked upon it. Its’ eyes cry tears of blood while the very air about it hung heavy with unspoken curses.  Her brothers had laughed as they spoke while Lyanna had ground her teeth in an attempt not to show her annoyance.

She wondered if they were even aware of how close to accurate they were.

The heart tree itself was immense. Roots spread out, old gnarled fingers that snaked and tangled their way through the fallen leaves, digging and weaving through the blanket of soft, spongy green moss while the heads of golden brown mushrooms peeking out of dark craggy places from beneath. They led her eyes upwards to the massive trunk that had become twisted and bent with age and crowned with a canopy of great, wide branches covered in ivy and grey moss. All of which framed the face.

Lyanna was not disappointed.

A warped, grotesque visage. Its mouth a contorted rictus of rage and eyes that flared out with malevolence. It was a scarred face. Extensive scars that were carved deep and oozing blood red sap like tears.

Lyanna could see where the stories came from, the legendary heart tree of Harrenhal that exuded hate and vengeance, cursing all who came here. But when she looked upon it now hate and anger is not what she saw.

“It is everything I imagined it to be,” she whispered.

“Terrible is it not?”  The prince spoke from behind her.

“No.”

“No?” The prince looked over at her. “Are you not frightened?”

“No my lord,” she replied, one eyebrow cocked up. “Are you?”

He smiled and looked back at the tree. “I suppose nothing frightens you.”

“Several things do actually,” Lyanna shrugged, “but not this.”

They stood in silence for a moment. Lyanna’s gaze upon the heart tree while the prince’s was on her. She could not help but be acutely aware of his eyes on her.

“You follow the old gods then,” the prince spoke, breaking the silence.

“Many Northmen do your grace.”

“That was not what I asked.”

“I know.” Lyanna said, sparing him a quick glance and a small smile. She turned back to her horse and began to remove the bag with the armor and shield. “So, we are to leave this here then? Seems fitting I suppose …”

“No.”

“No?” It was her turn to give a questioning look.

“No. The armor will go to the bottom of the God’s Eye, the shield will go with me. My father, will not be satisfied with merely a verbal report. I will need some physical evidence to support my account.”

“Which will be …”

Her voice trailed off as her question hung in the air between them.

“That I followed the knight’s trail into the godswood were it disappeared.”

Lyanna blinked, her brow furrowing for only the briefest of seconds as he spoke before she regained her composure. Her expression remained carefully neutral as her head tilted slightly while she considers him.

“You know, it is said that it is impossible to lie when in the presence of a heart tree. I would imagine that to be especially true in the presence of one as old and terrible as this.”

“Then there is no reason to doubt me.”

“No,” she said thoughtfully, “I suppose there isn’t.”

Lyanna considered him for a moment longer before finally breaking her gaze and turn back to her horse. She finished untying the bag and let it drop to the ground with a clattering of metal.  

“So my lord,” she called out as she began to unfasten the saddle, “what are we doing here then?”

“Waiting.” The prince said from beside her as he to unfasten the saddle as well. Lyanna gave a little jump at the sound of his voice. She had not heard him walk up and now he stood so close she felt as if she should move. _I bloody well will not move,_ she thought stubbornly. _I was here first and this is my horse. I didn’t ask for help nor do I need it._ The prince reached over her to remove the saddle and Lyanna gave him a little nudge in response.

“Waiting?” she asked innocently as she pulled the saddle down herself and set it on the ground.

“Yes waiting,” he answered. His hands still hovered over where the saddle had been before he slowly brought them down to rest on the mare’s back. Lyanna turned back around in time to see the prince turn back towards her horse and pull the riding blanket from its back. If she had not known better, she could have sworn she had seen him grinning. “I thought that it would be best. Let a little time pass, to allow the initial excitement to die down.”

Lyanna sighed. _I really have done it this time, haven’t I_.

“Did I truly cause that much of a ruckus?”

Rhaegar looked back at her. This time she was certain he was grinning, violet eyes sparkling.

“Yes my lady, truly you did.”

“Bah, that was not my intent!” she growled, raking her fingers through her hair in frustration. She pulled her hair free from its tie as she walked over to the bag with the armor and began to dig. “I never wanted any of this, ever.” She rummaged angrily through the bag and pulled out the tunic she had worn earlier. She got up and stomped over to the small stream. “They were bullies, nothing more. Picking on one less than half their size and for no other reason than they could. They deserve far worse than what they received and are far less deserving of being knights. Someone needed to call out their wrong doing.” She dunked the tunic in the stream, getting it good and soaked before walking back over to her horse. “You know,” she said pointing at the prince, “if I were a man, none of this would be of issue. If I were a man I could have simply entered the tourney no matter how poorly I ride. But I am not a man. Never mind that I can out ride any man here. Never mind that I can out joust at least three of them. None of that matters. Because I am not a man.” Lyanna dropped down in front of her horse and began to wipe the mare’s legs with the wet tunic.

“No you are not,” the prince agreed. “Although I believe you are far more worthy than any man here.”

Lyanna looked up at the prince with a scowl.

“You mock me your grace –”

“No I –”

“Not all of us are born to such privilege –”

“My lady I –”

“- to be free to do as we will –”

“My lady –”

 “- when we will and you would be wise to –”

“Lady Lyanna please!”

Lyanna stopped mid wipe and looked at the prince who was now kneeling next to her, grasping her wrist.

“I was not mocking you. I would never … I would not do such a thing. I meant what I said and mean no disrespect … please.”

His eyes were locked on hers once more and once more, Lyanna was the first to look away. This time in shame. This was not one of her brothers she could cow down or out shout. This was His Grace, Prince  Rhaegar Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone and heir to the Iron throne. The realization of what she had done began to dawn on her.

“Forgive me your grace. It is I who have disrespected you. I have a habit of forgetting myself and becoming insolent as I did just now. Do you … are you going to bring me before the king?”

The prince looked at her with surprise. “No,” he said emphatically, “no of course not. I gave you my word. In front of a weirtree no less. Of course not. If I may?” He let go of Lyanna’s wrist and took the wet tunic from her hands and tore it in half. He handed one half back to Lyanna.

Lyanna felt her heart calm in her chest as she took the rag from him. The relief she felt was palpable.

“Thank you, your grace is indeed merciful.”

“Rhaegar.”

Lyanna said nothing, only looked at the prince.

“Please, you will call me Rhaegar. And I will call you Lyanna, if you allow it. And we will be just a boy and a girl. Two friends exploring the godswood and cleaning off the legs of a horse. Agreed?”

The prince looked at her and it seemed to Lyanna as if there was something unspoken there, in his eyes. Some small spark of hope that seemed to be fighting an undercurrent of sadness.

“Alright,” she said slowly, “agreed … Rhaegar.”

The name sounded strange coming from her lips and her mouth became a tight thin line as she tried to remain disapproving while suppressing a smile.

“Wonderful! Thank you Lyanna.”

Lyanna shook her head and resumed wiping off the mare’s legs.

“Lyanna, if I may ask you a question?”

“Why certainly _Rhaegar_ , by all means ask away.”

“Why _are_ we cleaning paint off the legs of your horse?”

With that, Lyanna lost the last shred of her composure and laughed. She stood up and walked over to the little stream, once more soaking the torn tunic and then returning to her horse.

“She is one of ours and I couldn’t risk someone recognizing her now could I? I was able to cover her flank and head with the riding armor and blanket but as only three of her cannons are white, she would still be recognizable. We painted them black to disguise her as well.”

“We?”

“Ben. Benjen. He’s the youngest of my brothers.”

“Is he the one you poured the drink on?”

Lyanna’s eyes widened with shock. “Oh gods, you saw that?” Her cheeks burned with embarrassment.

Rhaegar smiled. “I believe everyone saw that.”

Lyanna rolled her eyes. “Ugh, well, he deserved it,” she sniffed indignantly.

“And what did he do to deserve such retribution, if I may ask.”

“Well if you must know, he laughed at me.”

Rhaegar paused and looked at Lyanna. “Laughed …”

“Yes.”

“At you …”

“Yes,” she repeated.

“Hmm,” the prince said as he began to clean the mare’s leg once more. “Seems a bit extreme …”

“You don’t know Ben …,” Lyanna muttered back.

“You are close then? To your brothers.”

“One could say they raised me, much too old Nan’s horror,” she answered with a smile. “Perhaps that is why I vex my father. Besides, it’s much easier to blame them for my shortcomings.”

Rhaegar looked at over at Lyanna. “Shortcomings? What shortcomings?”

“Ah well,” Lyanna laughed as she leaned back on one arm and wiped at her forehead with the other, “perhaps it is that I would rather be riding than doing embroidery. Or perhaps because I prefer to practice swords instead of being sent off to become a good wife. Or perhaps it is a simple as me being far too stubborn and willful and not a proper lady. The list could go on I am certain. And what with this,” Lyanna gestured toward her horse and the bag of armor,” well, if my father found out about this, it would simply solidify that opinion.”

“But your father is not going to find out,” Rhaegar said.

“Yes,” Lyanna agreed, looking down at her hands as she absently twisted the filthy rag with her fingers, “and yet, knowing that only makes me feel even worse.”

Rhaegar stood up and walked over to where Lyanna sat, gently took the dirty rag from her hands and then walked over to the stream where he began to rinse them out.

“You love your father,” he said, his back to her as he knelt,” it’s only natural to feel guilt. You would never intentionally do something to hurt one you love but, sometimes, when faced with the decision of doing what you know in your heart is right, you have to make that choice. You have to take that chance and simply hope that in the end it was the right one.”

Rhaegar stood up and walked over to Lyanna and sat down next to her.

“Never mind who you hurt along the way?” she asked.

“If it were easy,” he said with a shrug, “then everyone would do it.”

Lyanna laughed as she shook her head. “Forgive me but I don’t think you could understand what it is like to be born a woman. To be born into this world with duty and expectation laid upon you before your first nameday and then traded off like so much chattle to build the sake of an alliance or tradition and not be allowed one word against it.”

Now it was Rhaegar’s turn to laugh. “Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure. I may understand more than you know.”

Lyanna smiled as she looked at the prince. She liked it when he smiled. She gave him a playful kick to his leg.

“Well, aren’t we a pair?” she grinned as she leaned over and took one of the rags from him and began to wipe at her hands. “It was your fault by the way.”

The prince who had been watching her blinked with surprise when she spoke. “Pardon me?”

“When my brother required a drink atop his head. I was crying due to your song,” Lyanna laughed, “because it was beautiful. And so I cried. And then he laughed and said … well, never mind what he said. Suffice it to say, he deserved it and ultimately it was your fault.”

“What did he say?” Rhaegar asked amused but Lyanna shook her head. “Please,” he implored with mock concern, “I must know, especially if the fault is my own.”

“No,” Lyanna refused laughing, “just accept your guilt and move on.”

“Without knowing the full extent of the charges I’m afraid I can accept nothing.”

“Fine then. Continue your life of denial.”

They looked at each other as they laughed. Lyanna found herself noticing the way his eyes would crinkle at the ends or how his brow line would raise in surprise when she would swat at him playfully. She saw how one corner of his mouth would raise just slightly higher than the other when smiled and noted how even the flaws added to the perfection. She took in how his hair seemed to make the color of his eyes more pronounced and wished he wore colors that would complement them rather than the dour black and red of his house. She was fascinated by the color, almost a pale lilac in the center surrounded by dark purple or indigo. She thought that perhaps she could stare at them for hours and then it dawned on her that she was staring at them. Rather intently. And he stared back at her, his face indecipherable.

He reached over then, a slow movement, his hand going to the side of her face where it hovered for the briefest of seconds before it began to wipe. Lyanna realized it was wet.

“You have some paint …” he said, his voice trailing off as he dabbed at her cheek with the wet rag. Lyanna blinked.

“Oh, thank you, yes,” she stammered as she took the rag from his hand. _Stupid, stupid girl!_ She thought angrily. Lyanna looked away as she began wiping furiously at her face. _Stupid, silly, moon eyed girl!_

The prince watched Lyanna for a moment before also looking away. He leaned back against a large root, long legs stretched out before him as he crossed one foot over the other.

“So,” he said, breaking the silence between them, “you are promised to Robert Baratheon are you not?”

The question startled Lyanna but she tried not to show it. “Yes I am,” she replied.

“But you do not love him.”

This time Lyanna did show her shock. “What?”

“You do not love him.”

“What are you … that is none of your concern sir. What would make you presume to know the secrets of my heart?”

“When you said you would rather have a sword than be a wife I assumed …” Rhaegar shrugged.

“Well you assume too much,” spat back indignantly.

“So you do not love him then.”

“I never said that!”

“You never said you did.”

“I never said anything! This is not a proper conversation. We are not having this conversation!” Lyanna huffed and stood up, stomping over to the back with the armor and stuffing the rags down in it.

“So now we are worried about propriety?” Rhaegar asked amusedly.

“Taking part in joust is one thing,” Lyanna said crisply, “talking about the intimate details of one’s life is another.” She spun around and looked at the prince. “Do you love your wife sir?”

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Lyanna regretted them. The prince said nothing at first, only stared at her with that same unreadable expression. Her heart began to pound and she thought that she had gone too far this time, overstepping her bounds. He was a prince after all and her lord and future king. If she thought these were improper questions for one to ask her, then what would he think?

But the prince did not condemn her for her impudence and drag her off on the back of her horse to his father. Rather, he looked away and at his hands that rested across his chest where he sat.

“Elia is a beautiful woman, and a wonderful mother. A man could not ask for a finer wife or the land a more gracious queen. You ask if I love my wife and I will answer honestly. My duty as a husband and a father demands it and so yes, there is love there. But while I love my wife, I am not in love with her.

It occurred to Lyanna then, just how similar they were.

They remained by the weirtree for a while more. The conversation remained casual and light. Lyanna entertained the prince with stories of her and her brothers when they were younger and would delight in tormenting dear old Nan. The prince listened politely, asking questions about Winterfell and the wildings. Lyanna knew little of the later other than what she heard her father and brothers talking about with each other or other lords. The prince even surprised her with a story about dragon eggs being hidden in the depths of Winterfell’s crypts, something he immediately regretted mentioning when she resolved to find them. Lyanna had become acutely aware of his presence and felt flustered by it. The prince was nothing but respectful of course, although it seemed to Lyanna that he avoided her eyes a bit more, keeping his to his hands or hers or to canopy of trees above them. It was during one of those moments that his attention was completely pulled by the sound of chirping and squeaks from above. Lyanna watched him as his mouth pressed into a thin line and he stood up and extended his hand to her.

“It is time to go,” was all he said.

Lyanna took his hand and it seemed to her as if that perhaps he had held it for just a moment too long. Just long enough to make her look up at him as he turned and let go.

They walked the trail through the woods in a similar silence as when they came. Upon approaching the treeline, Lyanna could see that dusk was well upon them. She felt she would easily make her tent in the dark. She turned to the prince to thank him but he spoke before she could.

“If you take this trail further over, you will find an opening that will bring you out near the Kingspyre. You should be able to make it to your father’s encampment unnoticed. I will exit out of the main trail. When the men see me with the shield, word will spread and others will come to see. This should help you all the more. Leave the bag with me. I will hide it and return at a later time to dispose of it.”

He stopped talking then and stood there as if waiting. Lyanna was suddenly unsure of what to do. She walked over to him and standing on her tiptoes leaned up and quickly kissed his cheek. The prince stiffened as she did and she felt her face flush with embarrassment once more. She moved back quickly.

“Thank you, your Grace. I owe you a debt I am afraid I won’t be able to repay.”

She thought he may speak but she did not wait. She tuned and jumped lightly and easily to the back of her horse. She looked over her shoulder to see the prince had turned away as he adjusted something on the back of the shield.

“It would seem the Silver Prince has stolen another heart.”

Rhaegar turned back and looked at Lyanna. “What,” he whispered.

“That’s what he said … Benjen. He said it would seem the Silver Prince has stolen another heart … so I poured a drink over his head … your grace.”

Lyanna spurred her horse down the trail.

“My Lady,” he said as he watched her disappear into the shadows.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

The crowd around Lyanna roared with laughter. At dwarf was stuffing a man into a barrel to hide him from a woman on the stage. A company of actors performed what she thought was the Conqueror’s Two Wives or something along that vein. She could not be sure. But it was loud and it was bawdy therefore the audience was entertained. A light breeze would occasionally blow across the stage causing the banners and cloth that were hanging to flutter, revealing the old ruins that played host for the stage. The sun, having reached its apex, would now begin its descent and so torches were being prepared so that the performance could continue well into the night. Comedy was for the day while tragedies always happened at night.

She had come to the mummer show to in an attempt to distract herself. She had returned to her tent last night relatively unnoticed, except for Ben and Howland who were watching and waiting for her return. Ben had popped out of the dark as she made for her tent.

_“Where have you been? You would not believe the ruckus that was started here! Everyone is looking for you, or for the knight I should say. Were you caught? Ugh, the gods help us if you are caught, father will skin us!”_

_“I’m here aren’t I? I think it would be safe to assume I haven’t been caught, no thanks to either of you! Now quiet down before you get us all caught!” Lyanna hissed. She entered her tent with her brother and the crannogman behind her._

_“But where have you been?” Ben whined softly. “I couldn’t make it to the godswood, what with all the men milling about. I just thought that we, you … well, I just …”_

_“You thought I had been caught and in turn, you were caught as well,” she spat irritably. “I know what you thought.”_

_“That’s not fair Lyanna,” Benjen replied, wincing at her accusation, “you didn’t see what is was like here.”_

_“He’s right my lady,” Howland spoke up softly in her brother’s defense from across the tent, “there was nothing we could’ve done. We were worried about you.”_

_“I know,” Lyanna sighed. She dropped her cloak down on a chair and dropped onto her back on the bed. “There was no way we could’ve know the king would react the way he did.”_

_“I heard he even sent Prince Rhaegar out to look,” Ben piped up, his excitement returned with her perceived forgiveness._

_“He did,” said Lyanna as she stared up towards the top of the tent._

_“How do you know?”_

_“Because he found me.”_

_The uncharacteristic silence that followed her statement caused Lyanna to look over at Ben and Howland curiously from where she lay. They both stared back at her, mouths agape, eyes gone wide and faces pale. Lyanna burst out laughing._

_“By all that is holy, I pray to all the olds gods that that is not how I looked! Your faces,” she giggled as she looked back up at the ceiling._

_“He … found you …” Ben stuttered._

_“Yes.”_

_“He knows …”_

_“Everything.”_

_“By the seven bloody false hells Lyanna,” Benjen exclaimed, no longer able to contain himself, “he knows?!”_

_“Really Ben, your language –”_

_“He’s going to turn us in!” Ben squeaked._

_“Lower your voice,” Lyanna snapped, “and no he isn’t.”_

_“How …” Ben stopped and cleared his throat, his voice carefully controlled, “how do you know?”_

_“Because he told me so.”_

_“And you believe him,” Ben scoffed._

_“Yes I do,” Lyanna leaned up on her elbows and looked at the two young men before her, “now if the two of you don’t mind, I’ve had a bit of a trying day and would like to get some sleep.”_

_“But,” Benjen protested, “aren’t you going to tell –”_

_“No I’m not,” Lyanna exclaimed, throwing a small pillow for emphasis, “not tonight anyway.”_

_Benjen opened his mouth to protest but was stopped by Howland clearing his throat. Ben’s mouth twisted into a pout as he rose from his seat with an exasperated sigh._

_“Fine. Tomorrow then,” he said, pointing a finger at Lyanna as he made his way out. Howland began to follow before stopping at the exit._

_“You are certain,” Howland spoke up softly once more from across the tent._

_“Yes I am. Everything will be fine, nothing’s going to happen. I promise. Go.”_

She never did tell Benjen what happened. Not yet anyway. Not that it mattered. Ben, being Ben, was immediately distracted upon waking when he found out about the archery contest. Lyanna had not seen him at all. Howland on the other hand …

He had been apprehensive about what Lyanna had planned to do from the start and now even more so. Lyanna looked through the crowd for the crannogman. While he was similar in age to her older brother Eddard, he was a small, wiry, thing that made him seem younger then he was, at first glance anyway and had a very annoying habit of being able to avoid being seen. Especially when someone was looking for him, or so it seemed. Lyanna had been hard pressed to elude him throughout the day. It was not that she did not want to tell him, but rather because she did not know what to tell him. She herself was not even sure of what happened.

Another burst of laughter turned her attention back to the stage. There were two women now and they seemed to be playing a game of cat and mouse with the man in the barrel and the dwarf. The dwarf began stuffing buckets of rotting fish into the barrel much to the man’s horror.

Lyanna sighed. She understood Howland’s concern. He had been against the idea from the start, preferring instead to allow the gods to mete out their justice. But it had been Lyanna’s opinion that perhaps the gods could some assistance, in this instance anyway. When Howland discovered what she intended to do he had wanted to go to her older brothers for aid and Lyanna knew that this was something Brandon and Ned would never approve. And so she had no choice but to involve him, thereby making him complicit as well. Lyanna did not enjoy doing this, but it had become a necessary evil. Lyanna had believed she would feel some sort of satisfaction at the dressing down of those three little asses. But now all she felt was guilt. Guilt at being discovered, guilt at allowing Ben and Howland to risk discovery as well, and most troubling of all, the guilt she felt about lying to her father.

Her father believed she had stayed in her tents that day due to her finally beginning her bleed. She had forgotten that one distressing little detail when her father inquired after her the following morn.

_“Ah,” he said brightly as Lyanna emerged from her tents, “feeling better are we?”_

_Lyanna had stared at him in blank confusion for several seconds before he spoke again._

_“You know, from yesterday … when you … you had … ahem … you did not attend the joust because ... you … because …”_

_It took several moments of her father stammering before she remember the lie._

_“Oh! Yes that! Yes. It was false. Something I ate that didn’t sit well.”_

Her father’s obvious relief at not having to discuss the topic of her monthly blood should have been an amusing site for Lyanna. But instead the words tasted bitter on her tongue as she forced down the aftertaste of her shame. Lyanna loved her father, dearly. He had raised her as best he could given the circumstances. He had allowed her freedoms that many women of the north would never have. He had never discouraged her interests and even had a hand in the shaping of many. He had always doted on her, allowing her leniency while her brothers were punished, much to her brothers’ chagrin. And they often pointed out his willingness to turn a blind eye to the inequities of discipline. Lyanna had to admit that she had used this to her advantage more than once.

Of course now that she was older, description of acts once termed spirited had morphed into headstrong. What was once called determined was now termed stubborn or willful. Which was probably why her brothers did not mind pointing a few discrepancies with her absence from the tourney yesterday.

_“Convenient that,” her brother Brandon said from across the tent as he fastened a belt around his waist, “you missed quite the show yesterday.”_

_The look her eldest brother gave her was pointed._

_“Oh?” she said innocently._

_“Oh yes, quite the show. An unknown knight joined the rosters yesterday and defeated, what three houses Ned?”_

_Her brother Ned was also staring at Lyanna, although the look he gave was not as pointed as it was knowing._

_“Mmm,” was all he said from where he sat at the table._

_“Mmm,” Branon repeated as he took a pair of gloves from a serving boy, “yes three houses. You know, now that I think about it, the same three houses those ruddy little squires belonged to that had been bothering Howland yeah?”_

_“Mmm,” Ned said again. He was now reclining in his seat, his long legs stretched out before him, his fingers laced together and resting behind his head._

_“Mmm,” Brandon echoed. He now stood facing Lyanna as he pulled on his gloves, his head tilted slightly as he continued to stare at her. “Bested all three.”_

_“And what is so unusual about knights being bested at tourney?” Lyanna questioned dryly, unimpressed with her brothers._

_“Nothing at all of course. It’s just that, all the winning knight wanted was for the other three to, oh what was it … oh yes, teach their squires manners, right Ned.”_

_“Mmm.” The look Ned gave her seemed suspiciously droll to Lyanna._

_“And that’s surprising? I told you they were a bunch of beastly little bastards. So someone else noticed? They had it coming,” Lyanna replied, meeting her eldest brother’s stare defiantly._

_“I couldn’t help but notice that the mystery knight had a very familiar riding style,” Brandon stood now with his arms folded across his chest as he looked at his sister, “very familiar. And small too, very small for a knight –”_

_“Oh gods get to the point Bran,” Lyanna spat testily, “what are you trying to say already –”_

_“ – pissed off the king too. So much he sent the prince out to look for him –”_

_“ – if you are accusing someone of something I wish –”_

_“ – calling him a traitor to the crown and the amount of trouble they would cause –”_

_“ – you would spit it out and be done with it otherwise –”_

_“ – if caught could get a lot of people not just hurt but killed! Not to mention –”_

_“ – just shut up!”_

_“ – ruining their houses reputation!”_

_“ENOUGH!”_

_Lyanna and her brother’s voice had become louder and louder as they bickered back and forth to the point that they were shouting by the end. But neither of the combined could top their father. His voice caused all action within the tent to stop, maybe even outside as well. Lyanna and Brandon, while silent, continued to glower at each other._

_Their father stared at the two of them for a moment before he spoke to Brandon first._

_“You have a tourney to prepare for, focus your energies on that.”_

_Brandon was having none of it._

_“Father,” his voice far more tempered when speaking to their father than when speaking to his sister, “this wasn’t some childish prank or silly race with the Bolton boy. She could’ve been ruined. Our house reputation ruined. This involved the crown –”_

_“And the crown investigated and all they found was a discarded shield in the woods,” her father interrupted. “Prince Rhaegar himself said he could find no other trace of the knight. It’s done.”_

_“But she –”_

_“I said it’s done!”_

_Brandon’s back stiffened slightly and his mouth tightened but he said no more. Her father sighed and then turned to Lyanna. After a moment he walked over to where she stood and took her chin in his hand, gently forcing her to turn her gaze to his. In his eyes she could see love, concern, pride and disappointment. Lyanna tried her best not to wince._

_“Your sister is done with these foolish reckless actions. She is betrothed now. Soon to be married. She has set aside childish things and is now a woman and will compose herself as such … continue to compose herself as such, and honor her family name as such. There will be no more talk of this. There will not need to be. Because this will never happen again.”_

_Lyanna could feel her face burn as her vision began to blur and she looked away, rightfully ashamed._

_“Yes father,” she whispered._

_Her father said nothing, just kissed her forehead. He turned to Brandon and Eddard._

_“Come on then,” he said to Brandon and made to leave. He called out to Eddard from over his shoulder. “You’ll be accompanying your sister to the joust today yes?”_

_“Mmm,” Ned replied, his chin now resting in his hand as he considered Lyanna._

_“What?” his father said as he came to a halt to look at his other son. Ned jumped up out of his seat._

_“Yes sir.”_

_“Mmm,” their father said as he turned and left the tent as Brandon followed._

_Ned turned back around and looked at Lyanna before once more returning to his seat, his elbow resting on his knees and his chin back resting in his hand. Lyanna gave him a disgusted look._

_“Oh shut up Ned.”_

It had been foolish of her to believe her father would not know. What was worse, everything Brandon had said was true and she deserved to be punished. She would almost prefer being whipped over seeing the disappointment in her father’s eyes again. She supposed being married off was punishment enough.

Her father had been reluctant to see her betrothed and had no interest when potential suitors were brought up. But one suitor had been particularly determined and now it seemed that her father had resolved that perhaps marriage was the natural course. And in truth, what better choice than Robert Baratheon, Lord of Storm’s End? He was handsome and charming and closest friend to her brother Eddard. Tall and imposing, he commanded the attention of every lady in the room and a few of the men as well. Ned had said that he could make friends out of enemies, winning them over without even having to fight. And as for his reputation for … well, there was no way for one to put this delicately … whoring? Every man has been known to go through a phase and this too shall pass, especially once he is married.

There was no reason for her father not to believe this was a good match for his daughter. And it seemed that her actions yesterday confirmed this.

She had joined her family in attending the tourneys that day. They sat in the section reserved for her house, the direwolf banner hung proudly above them. Brandon had competed and had done well too. A larger crowd than normal had turned out this morning. No doubt many hoped to seem some excitement similar to the previous afternoon. But there was none to be had aside from the scheduled events. Brandon moved on to the third day of the joust as was expected and Lyanna wondered who he would crown if he should win the final tilt, especially since no one from House Tully were present.

Prince Rhaegar Targaryen was among the champions that would continue on. Lyanna had watched him as well, although she had moved from the box with her house banner to somewhere along the edge of the seats to watch him compete so as not to draw attention to herself.

She had to admit that he cut quite the impressive figure. She even begrudgingly acknowledged that he had some skill in the saddle. It was difficult not to find oneself cheering for him, her heart racing when he would start the run, her breath catching when he would take a hit. She had become annoyed at that. She did not wish to be like the rest of the ladies who watched liked dewy eyed love sick little girls, hoping to catch the prince’s eye. Perhaps she should wave a fan about her face and declare dizziness from the heat too. Hell, why not just walk up and greet him like an old friend and reminisce about the time she sent the King into a paranoid rage? What a feebleminded little git she was becoming. She had left the tourney immediately after that, embarrassed at her behavior.

The audience howled with laughter as the dwarf ran through one of the actress’s legs on stage and lifted her skirts. Lyanna fidgeted with her cloak. It was the lightest one she had and even though it was still lined with fur, the evenings cooled rapidly during this false spring. She would more than likely need a heavier one as dusk came on. She wore a simple gray gown that was embroidered with small delicate blue flowers along the hem, collar and sleeves and a thin grey belt engraved with direwolves fastened low around her waist. Her hair hung loose down her back except for two braids that held it back out of her face, although the wayward strand did make an escape here and there. She had no patience for the intricate fashions that many of the ladies of the court wore, preferring to remain true to the styles of the north.

She had tarried long enough anyway. It was not right that she keep Howland and Benjen in the dark as long as she did. They deserved to know what happened seeing as they had risked just as much in helping her.  

The audience laughed and cheered as the dwarf ran the actors ragged onstage. Lyanna watched as the man would take on a guise as he talked to one actress and then shed it to take on another guise when the second actress came on stage and the first one left. The dwarf aided him the entire time, distracting the two women and trading masks with the actor. Lyanna arranged her cloak about her shoulders and was about to leave when a voice spoke softly from behind her.

“My lady does not like the performance?”

Lyanna froze mid motion, her eyes going wide. Her head turned slightly towards her shoulder.

“Your … grace?”

“Careful now,” he cautioned, “we don’t want to distract from the play.”

Lyanna quickly looked forward once more, glancing around her to see if anyone had heard. No one had noticed of course, the action on the stage continued to hold the audience attention.

“Why are … what are you doing here?” she whispered as she adjusted her cloak again, making sure her gaze remained on the stage.

“To watch the mummer show of course, like you.”

She shot an incredulous look over her shoulder.

“Oh really? And do you often attend the performance dressed that way.”

“Only when I do not wish to be accompanied by a full guard and line of attendants.”

“Oh, well, I suppose that makes sense … do you also sneak up behind unsuspecting audience members as well?”

“Depends on who’s in the audience.”

Lyanna began to laugh only to cover it up by clearing her throat.

“My lady did not like her seats for the joust today?”

Lyanna froze once more.

“What?”

“I couldn’t help but notice that you left your seat for the joust. I was wondering why you would watch from the sides when your house seats were clearly better.”

“I … I was …I didn’t … I was leaving. What do you care?” she stammered. _Gods I’m pathetic_.

“I just noticed you had moved for my run. I thought you might want different seats.”

“No, I was leaving. I left. I wasn’t there. My seats are fine.”

“No, you stood to the side along the edges. Towards the back.”

“That wasn’t me,” she snapped a little louder than she had intended. Lyanna glanced around and spoke again in a whisper. “I wasn’t there. Why were you watching me anyway? Shouldn’t you be a little more concerned with not getting your head taken off?”

“So you did see,” he said pleased. “There were a couple of close calls, weren’t there? But I caught him in the end.”

“Barely,” Lyanna snorted, “you keep leaning to the left like you do and next thing you know you will be the one who’s caught.”

“I don’t lean to the left –”

“Oh yes you do. You got lucky that you figured out that your opponent tilts to the outside for counterbalance before he figured you out.”

“You could see that?”

“Any fool could see that! It’s a wonder it took you so long to see it.”

The prince said nothing and Lyanna began to fear that perhaps she had overstepped herself. She was about to apologize when he spoke again.

“Will you walk with me?”

It was Lyanna’s turn to be silent. Without thinking she turned and looked back at him in surprise, fully seeing him. He stood behind her covered in a dark plain cloak, the hood up covering his distinctive hair. Violet eyes met hers. Her traitorous heart began to pound. _I am losing my mind_ , she thought angrily. She turned back around and remembered to breathe. She was not going to go of course. She could not go. She would not go. Brandon would explode.

She was about to tell him as much when she saw him. Just a flash, barely a glimpse, but she knew it was him. Howland had found her and if he saw who she was talking to ….

“Oh bloody hell.”

“Is that a yes or …” the prince asked.

“No. I mean yes. I mean, dammit! It’s Howland!”

“Howland?”

“My father’s banner man. You don’t understand. My father knows. My brothers know. They know it was me. They are watching me now. Making sure … if I am seen talking to you …”

“Ah, listen to me. The performers are about to involve the audience. When they stand, just take my hand and follow me, understand?”

Lyanna turned and looked at the prince.

“What?”

“Take my hand.”

Lyanna looked down at the hand extended out before her. She could hear her heart pounding in her ears. She found it fascinating just how easily her hand fit into his. _I have completely lost my mind_ , she thought once more.

The audience roared and rose to their feet shouting as the world around Lyanna began to blur. They weaved their way through the crowd, making their way to the edges of the audience and down the narrow remnants of what was once a hallway. The roar of the crowd was becoming fainter behind them the further they went, the path continuously twisting and turning. They would pass the occasional torch that was not lit, some of them looking as if they had not been lit for some time for they were now black with mold and rotted away. They rounded another corner and came to a large space that opened up to other decayed hallways, stairways and paths that led to other parts of the old tower. The prince moved to the side of the entrance way they had just come through and pressed his back against the wall to listen with Lyanna right next to him, her hand still firmly clasped in his.

They listened intently for a few moments and heard nothing. The prince turned and looked at her with a smile. Lyanna held her breath and covered her mouth with her free hand while stifling a laugh. It did not work. She exhaled into a fit of giggles while the prince laughed right along with her. They stood there staring at each other and laughing for several seconds before their laughter eventually died off to silly grins. They said nothing as they stared at each other for what Lyanna thought was just a moment too long. She had become acutely aware that her hand was still in his.

Reluctantly she relaxed her grip on his hand and broke the gaze. She regretted it immediately. Her hand felt empty and meaningless now, as if its entire purpose for being had been snatched away. She moved towards the center of the clearing and began to take in their surroundings.

There was no cover above their heads. The only ceiling above them was the sky that had begun to take on purple and gold hues with the oncoming dusk. The space was large and round and the ruins of what appeared to be a hearth of some sort was set in the middle. Vines of ivy that were dotted with tiny little flowers crawled up and down the walls that were slowly eroding away into piles of rubble. There was wooden scaffolding against one of the walls giving off the illusion that there had once been some interest in a possible restoration. But that thought had most certainly been abandoned for some time for now even the overgrowth had begun to take over the scaffold in its attempt to reach the sun. It reminded Lyanna of stories from when she was a child about magic and fairies and becoming trapped in sort of fey world. But what really took Lyanna’s attention was the great ruined tower that loomed over them like the old decayed bones of some giant. Its jagged peaks clawing at the sky.

“Where are we?” she asked staring at the monolith above them.

“I think we are somewhere below the Tower of Ghosts … I think,” the prince said as he pushed back the hood of his cloak and looked up to the sky. “It can be hard to tell from down here.”

“Tower of Ghosts?”

“Or the Tower of Dread,” he mused, “over there is the Wailing Tower.” The prince pointed to a second tower just behind the first.

“How do you know?”

“Do you see the long dark fissures running along eastern side,” he stood next to Lyanna and pointed, “there and there? They were formed from dragonbreath during Aegon’s conquest of Harren the Black.”

Lyanna looked at the jagged claw like formations that ran all along the side of the tower. Dragonbreath. Dragonfire. Dragons.

“I guess it’s not entirely a bad thing that they are gone.”

Rhaegar looked at her.

“What,” she shrugged, “they seem to be too powerful a force for anyone person. They have been gone for what? A hundred years?”

“More. Most were lost during the Dance. The last was said to be a deformed, sickly thing. She laid a clutch of about five eggs I believe but none ever hatched.”

“Pity,” Lyanna laughed, “so tell me more about the eggs in Winterfell. When were they left?”

“During the time of Lord Cregan Stark. Your great, great, great, great grandsire I believe. Give or take a few greats maybe. I am afraid my history is a little vague around here.”

“Really?” Lyanna marveled. “What dragon?”

“Vermax laid a clutch when Jacaerys Velaryon was sent to treat with lord Cregan during the Dance of the Dragons. Or at least that is how the story is told.”

“And where did you hear this story?”

“Ah, well, a little illegal late night reading.” Rhaegar grinned. “There are well known stories accounts by Septon Eustace and then the lesser known stories of Mushroom. Testimony of Mushroom to be precise.”

Lyanna sat down on a small chunk of fallen wall. “The Testimony of Mushroom?” she laughed.

“Yes. Not the most reliable accounts but I believe there may be more truth in there than is given credit, in spite of how drunk the author was when he dictated it. It was banned during the time of Baelor and most copies burned. But some survived.”

“And you are in the habit of reading the testimonies of known drunkards?”

“I am in the habit of studying all points of view. You would be surprised at how much truth can found in unlikely places.”

“Oh I’m sure,” Lyanna grinned and shook her head. The crowd from the mummer show could be heard cheering in the distance. The prince looked at her from across the clearing.

“Would you like to return?”

“What?” Lyanna looked up startled.

“Do you want to go back? I realize … I have put you … I fell that I have placed you in an inappropriate position. You and I, here alone. I don’t want you to feel, maybe I shouldn’t … I forced you to –”

“Forced me? Who forced me? You forced me?”

“Well, I did drag –”

“You dragged me?” Lyanna scoffed. “Are you insinuating that you forced me to come here?”

“I just –”

“Did you not _ask_ me to take your hand? Did I not place my hand into yours? I assure you no one forced me to do anything. Especially not you. As for inappropriate, what is so inappropriate? Why does this have to be inappropriate?”

“I didn’t mean –”

“Oh I know what you meant,” she snapped. “If we are found then my reputation is ruined and so on. Everyone is so concerned about my fucking reputation. Well I don’t bloody well care. If you care so much about your reputation then go on and go. I don’t care.”

Prince Rhaegar sat across the clearing from her in silence, his face a study in neutrality. But his eyes practically shone. Lyanna’s eyes however narrowed dangerously.

“I swear on all the old gods and the seven bloody hells, if you laugh I will come over there and strike you in the face, Prince of Dragonstone or no.”

The prince mouth pressed together into a thin line as he quickly looked down at his hands. Lyanna folded her arms across her chest and leaned back against the wall and waited.

“So,” he said, breaking the silence, “I lean to the left do I?”

Lyanna blinked.

“Yes you do. Right before you strike. Back and to the left and then you bear down and lean in. All it would take is the right timing to take you out of your seat.”

“Oh? And what would you suggest?”

Lyanna smiled. They spent most of their time talking about riding as the shadows in clearing of ruins grew longer across the ground. Lyanna happily pointed out everything the prince was doing wrong as sat and listened with a slight smile. She did not care if he smiled though. She was confident in her observations and unwavering in her argument. Besides, riding was the one thing she truly loved doing. The only time she truly felt at peace and comfortable in her surroundings. She did not know what exactly she loved more about it, whether it was the subtle unspoken communication between horse and rider or the rush of adrenaline when she opened her mount up to a full run. All she knew was that she could not be stopped. She could be alone.

“Do you like running away?”

Lyanna looked up at the prince, surprised by his question.

“I’m not running away. Well, maybe for a few brief seconds, in my mind perhaps.”

 “It’s alright. One’s duty can be a heavy burden at times.”

“Oh yes I forgot. You know all about having others make life changing decisions for you.”

Lyanna had meant comment to be playful, but the prince merely shrugged.

“From the time I was born others have made decisions for me in the name of what’s best for the realm. Everything I do revolves around what is best for king and country. From what I study to who I marry. Music is the only thing that I can say is truly all mine.  Everything else, decided on by others and based upon what is best for the realm.” It seemed to Lyanna that his posture changed, it was as if his shoulders slumped slightly as he leaned back against the wall and looked up to the sky. “You’re very fortunate you know, to have your father. To have the father that you have. To have a father devoted to the well-being of his family. Mine is, well … mine is … easily distracted,” he chuckled softly. “But what I do, I do for the realm. Not for myself. I do what is best for the realm.”

Lyanna watched him as he spoke, his last comment coming out a bitter whisper. He stood there in the dimming light staring up at the heavens, and she felt as if her heart might break he was so tragically beautiful. It seemed to her that perhaps they were not so different after all.

“If it were easy,” she said softly from where she sat, “then everyone would do it.”

Rhaegar looked over at her and Lyanna thought the intensity that burned within would consume her. Her chest tightened as her heart quickened and it seemed as if the air between them would ignite as his eyes slowly pulled at her soul. She felt herself almost become dizzy with the overwhelming desire to go over to where he stood and press her lips against his, reputation be damned. And in this moment she did not believe he would stop her. Indeed, she did not think anything could stop her at that moment.

_Except for the fact that he is married_. The thought scorched its way through her mind.

Lyanna blinked and looked away just as Rhaegar moved away from the wall.

“You know,” she said suddenly, “you are not at all how I thought you were.”

The prince looked surprised by her statement. His head tilted slightly.

“Oh?”

“Yes. I had always thought you to be a melancholy bookish thing. Or at least that is what I heard,” she grinned.

“Really?” he said with a thoughtful frown. “And what about now?”

“Well after today, I am afraid I am going to have to add that you are a pitiful rider to that list as well.”

“Well,” he said with mock indignation, “I will have you know that I had heard that the women of the North were wilder than the wolves that roamed the godswood there and as untamable as the weather.”

“Really!” Lyanna exclaimed with a laugh. “And what about now?”

“I am happy to report that it seems neither of us disappoints.”

They both laughed now. The prince walked over to where Lyanna sat and offered her his arm.

“The sky is has grown dark my lady and I feel that I should return you to your people. I have stolen you long enough.”

Lyanna sighed. _No, not long enough_ , she thought. _Not long enough at all_.

“I suppose you are right.”

 She took his arm and they made their way back through the shadows.

The path had become much darker now that the sun had left the sky. There were some areas where Lyanna could not see her hand in front of her face. But she was not frightened. Her hand was secure in the crook of his arm and he was solid and strong and with him she had no fear of the dark places in the world. They walked together in silence in the dark and for Lyanna it was over far too soon. They came to the opening that led back out to where the mummer stage was set. The audience milled about as the cast and crew set the stage for the next play as they would continue to perform well into the early hours of the morning. Rhaegar stopped just short of the entrance and looked at Lyanna.

“You will have to go on alone. I will make my way back through the ruined sept.”

Lyanna nodded and turned to go when the prince took her hand.

“My lady … will you be at the joust tomorrow? I thought perhaps you could watch, make sure I don’t lean to the left.”

Lyanna looked up at him and smiled.

“Yes I will be there. And I would be more than happy to tell you what you are doing wrong,” she said with a grin.

He smiled back at her and it seemed to Lyanna as if he had more he wanted to say, as if there were some inner battle going on in his mind and he struggled to find the words.

“Good night Rhaegar,” she whispered softly as she gently removed her hand from his.

“Good night Lyanna,” he replied and vanished into the shadows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know that their father was most likley not there. i am taking liberties


	5. Chapter 5

Rhaegar leaned against the window, arms folded across his chest as he looked down at the many tents that dotted the godseye below. The setting sun cast them in a golden light as the shadows began to grow and reach out in long lines across the ground. Small bonfires had begun to pop up randomly as the faint sounds of music and laughter drifted up occasionally to where he now stood. The tourney of singers would start tonight, something he normally enjoyed.

He was not in a celebratory mood.

Rhaegar stood in the large window of what had once been a great room within a ruined castle. He thought it had been the solar perhaps, once. It had been cleared and cleaned, the decay wiped from the walls and covered with tapestries and fine cloth in an attempt to make it suitable for the royal family. Elia slept in what were once considered the lord’s chambers below him with her attendants and guards for their house in smaller side chambers close by. A separate room have even been prepared for their daughter and her wet nurse but Rhaegar knew she would be sleeping in her mother’s room curled up next to her. There were some who would tell him this was detrimental for the child but he had always deferred to Elia’s judgement in these matters. As long as she approved then he would not deny her. It seemed to be a source of comfort for them both.

Rhaegar’s gaze drifted to the northern end of the godseye, to the camps closest to the godswood.

She was down there, somewhere, amongst the growing shadows and dimming light. She may attend some of the singers, she may even be dancing. He wondered what it would be like, to dance with her. To hold her closely, pressed against him, his hand on the small of her back.

He pushed the thought from his mind immediately. For him to think such things were beyond reprehensible. He should be ashamed.

He should be.

When he had found her in the woods he hand been surprised to say the least. But he had also been impressed. When he and Arthur had first seen the knight in the lineup they had thought it had been some sort of jest, the knight being so small that they could barely filled the seat they rode in. Rhaegar had actually been concerned that the knight would be hurt while Arthur had joked that perhaps they should attend to their armor as it seemed a squire has absconded with someone else’s. But then the knight took to the run and all laughter stopped as they managed defeat three houses. Not major houses but solid victories nonetheless. Arthur had given him a waggish smile and made the comment that perhaps the armor belonged to the knight after all. It had all been quite entertaining and the small folk had loved it. Especially when it was learned that the ransom to be paid in order for the defeated to win back their belongings was to teach their squires respect and honor and what it means to be a knight. Yes, the small folk had enjoyed that immensely.

His father meanwhile, had not.

The mystery around the knight’s identity had driven mad, sending him into one of his many episodic rages. Rhaegar did not hesitate when his father demanded the knight be found. He sent Arthur and Oswell away once the trail entered the godswood. Arthur was his brother but he was also a member of the kingsguard and therefore served the king. If they found the knight, they were duty bound to bring them before the king. Rhaegar had to be the one to find the knight. It had to be him and no other.

He had recognized her immediately. He made it a point to know who all of the lords were and those who followed their banners. His father had never placed much importance on the houses of the North, calling them backwoods and dull. But Rhaegar saw strength there and did not disregard their potential so easily. And the lady that had been before him only seemed to solidify that opinion.

He could not help but be impressed with her resolve, not to mention her skill. She was unlike anyone he had ever known, most certainly no woman he had ever known. She had somehow found a way to be unapologetic even while apologizing. She spoke to him boldly, bluntly, unabashedly. The sharpness of her tongue amused him to no end. She even started to change while he was in the clearing with him in the clearing with her! There was a strength of will there that he could not help but admire.

But despite how admirable or noble her intent may be, or how brave and fearless she was, what she had done had been impetuous and rash. If she had been found by anyone else she would have brought ruin on herself and her entire house.

But no one else had found her. He had seen to that. Fate, it seemed, had intervened in her favor.

Fate.

He did not know why he spoke so freely in front of her. Perhaps her willfulness was infectious. Perhaps there was some truth to the stories of magic within those ancient weirwood trees. He did not know. But while he was with her, while in her presence, he found himself giving voice to thoughts that he had not shared with anyone. Not even those closest to him. The crushing weight of duty and obligation were lifted and he found himself laughing, which some would say that in itself was quite the fete. He found himself watching her, studying her, fascinated with how she talked and moved. The way her chin would tilt up slightly when she perceived she was being challenged or how her right eyebrow would raise when she had doubt or was skeptical. He noticed how she would pull at her hair when she was frustrated and thought how even the stray lock of hair in her face only seemed to add to wildness of her beauty. He would find himself at times just staring at her and had to make a concerted effort to look away before he pushed at the boundaries of impropriety.

As they had left the godswood that evening, he had thought that would be the end. It had saddened him to have to part from her.

He had watched her ride off till he could not see her any longer.

He made his report and while his father raged, he returned to his chambers and barred his door, speaking to no one.

That night he dreamed of snow.

The following morning he gathered his attendants and arrived to the field. 

He found her almost immediately. She sat with the rest of her house beneath their banners. He had become disappointed when he saw that she was leaving when his name came up on the lists. But then he saw that she had simply moved to the edges of the house seats to watch, and stood among the crowd in the back. His eye would wander to her to the point of distraction, to the point that it almost cost him the tilt. His gridded guard at taken quite the beating. It a comment from Arthur to pull his attention back.

_“Are you trying to get your arse handed to you?”_

He went on to win.

Finding her later that day had been an accident, he had not meant to. Or at least he thought he did not, he was no longer sure. He was returning from the godseye, where he had separated the armour into three bags and filled them with stones. Arthur had accompanied him and Rhaegar told him everything.

_“The Stark girl?” he said in open surprise. “The one who poured the drink atop the boys head?”_

_“The same.”_

_“Perhaps I am not so surprised after all,” he chuckled with a shake of his head._

_“Yes, she is quite exceptional,” said Rhaegar as he dropped another rock in to the bag._

_“You approve of these actions?”_

_“I approve of her intent and admire her strength.”_

_“Is that all you approve of?”_

_Rhaegar stopped mid-motion and rested an arm on his knee as he turned to give his friend a flat look._

_“It is just that I did happen to notice that she is not at all unpleasant to look at,” Arthur observed._

_“No, she is not.”_

_“And, truth be told, you did not need to spend as much time in the woods with her as you did.”_

_“No, I did not.” Rhaegar returned his attention to the bag at his feet._

_“The king …” Arthur began._

_“Must not know,” finished Rhaegar, dropping another rock._

_“If he were to find out …”_

_“He would kill her.” Rhaegar looked up at Arthur. “He must not know Arthur. I tell you this not only as your prince but as your friend.”_

_Arthur watched him as he placed the last rock in the bag and stood up. He then walked over to where two other bags laden with rocks lay. He began to throw them into the water one after the other. They watched as the bags slowly disappeared within the dark depths of the godseye._

_“It is fortunate for her that the king had entrusted you with this task,” Arthur remarked._

_“Yes,” agreed Rhaegar, “fortunate indeed.”_

He had sent Arthur on ahead. He would return on his own, cut through the old sept and return to the kingspyre. He wanted to be alone. Arthur was accustomed to this.

He had made his way through the ruins along the base of the towers. Attempts at refurbishment were evident in some areas while the slow steady hand of time had taken others. Rhaegar chose the path with the most overgrowth. It seemed prudent to take the road less traveled to help in his efforts to avoid being seen. There were a few times where Rhaegar had actual concerns that he may have become lost within the twists and turns of the ruined hallways. There were a few times where he had left it to chance that he had made the correct choice. It was not till he heard the sounds from the crowd at the mummer show that he was able to truly orient himself again. He took the first opening he came to and went around the corner to find himself at the back of the crowd.

He had just put his hood up over his head when he saw her. She did not face him, but he knew.

Her hair tumbled free about her shoulders and down her back, its color a dark contrast to the pale gray of her dress. He thought it must compliment her eyes nicely. He watched her as she fidgeted with her cloak, growing restless where she sat.

 _How is it_ , he wondered _, that of all the paths chosen, with all of the twists and turns made, is it that I find myself in this exact spot?_

He looked to his right and could see an archway that led out, back to the main fairway. He could just go, just leave, simply walk away without her ever knowing.  

Rhaegar looked back at where she now stood and smiled as he moved silently up behind her.

There would be a time when he would look back on this moment and know that simply walking away had never truly been an option.

It had all seemed innocent enough, when he took her hand. It felt good in his. He led her through that dark maze and into the clearing of what had once been a minor kitchen or servant’s hall. He playfully thought how nice it would be if they could just keep running, keep a hold of her hand and just never stop.

It was a fleeting thought of course. A child’s fancy. And Rhaegar had never been one for flights of fancy.

He could not tell you when the exact moment was when it changed. His feelings. He had stood there, watching her as she spoke, happily telling him everything he had done wrong in the tilt and what he needed to do to correct it. She would challenge and tease and he would find himself laughing in a way he rarely did. And yet again he found himself putting to words thoughts and feelings that he did not dare share. Like two kindred spirits they had found each other, lost and wondering in the dark.

Perhaps it was in that moment when he saw her, when he truly saw her. He had met her eyes. To call them grey would be an injustice. If he were feeling poetic perhaps he would say silver or ash. But for him, in this moment, they were the sea. A stormy and treacherous sea that tore at his heart and threatened to drag him down into their depths.

And for the first time with her, he found himself at a loss. An overwhelming need had come over him in that moment. The desire to take her into his arms, to press, to feel her lips against his, was staggering. He was suddenly uncertain of what to do, like an acrobat on a wire he teetered back and forth, struggling to find his balance, till he finally found his resolve and pushed himself away from the wall.

But by then she had looked away and the reality of their situation closed in around him. Just what did he think he was going to do after he went to her? Did he really think he could be so bold as to kiss this girl? Or that she even wanted him too? What gave him the right?

He remembered how his heart ached in his chest when she took his arm. He remembered being grateful for the dark so she could not see how his hands shook when she pressed against him as they walked. He remembered how he stuttered and stammered like some foolish boy when he asked her to watch him in the tilt.

That evening he had returned to his chambers and barred the door once more, seeking solitude.

He was fixated on her. She monopolized his thoughts to the point of torment. He found himself in an unfamiliar state of mind. He was unknowing and lost, incompetent and inexperienced. He flailed and struggled like some unseasoned squire put to test in his first tourney. There was no prophecy for this, no book or meditation that would calm his mind … or heart.

He wondered if this is what it felt like to be in love.

Or perhaps it was just that the madness that lay dormant in his blood had awoken.

That night he again dreamed of snow, except now he was lost within it as it swirled wildly around him.

When he arrived to the field that next morning he resolved to turn his mind onto the run and nothing more. He could feel her eyes upon him as he took to the tilt.

He was almost unseated twice.

He managed to emerge triumphant in spite of what seemed to be attempts at otherwise. He would make the final tilt tomorrow along with Ser Arther and Ser Barristan, lord Yhon and the eldest son of house Stark. Tonight there would be the tourney of singers, and much celebrating for the houses of the finalists and their bannermen. In the past Rhaegar would have taken some pleasure in this. He would don a cloak and hood and walk among the small folk and take some small escape in their revelries. Sometimes Arthur would join him. Even Oswell could be cajoled at times, something that brought Arthur endless amounts of amusement.

But not this time. Not tonight.

A light tapping from far end of the great room pulled Rhaegar from his thoughts. He did not move or speak. If it was Arthur he would simply enter, anyone else would leave. Rhaegar heard a creak and then the sound of a heavy latch falling into place as the door opened and closed. Footsteps echoed through the room as his friend made his way. There was a low thud on the table and the caw of a raven reverberated throughout the room. Arthur walked over to where Rhaegar stood looking out the window and leaned against the other side.

“You’re not thinking about jumping are you?”

“Why, are you thinking about pushing me?”

“I just thought you might be a bit nervous,” Arthur shrugged innocently, “since you have to face me tomorrow.”

“That depends. Do you have enough lances this time?

Arthur winced as if in pain. “Oh well now that hurt,” he said pointing at his chest, “right here. That hurt right here.”

“Good, the weaker you are the better my odds.”

“Considering the way you have been riding, you may need the help.”

“Ah,” rhaegar said as he looked down at the floor with a thin but amused smile, “I suppose I deserve that.”

“Your mind is far afield as of late, more so than usual.”

Arthur watched as Rhaegar moved away from the window and walked over to the table where the raven sat in its cage.

“Are you not going to tell me just what has garnered such ardent consideration?”

Rhaegar spared a quick glance for his friend before reaching over for a piece of parchment that he had written on earlier. He began folding it.

“It’s the girl isn’t it …”

Rhaegar could not help but notice that it was not a question. He pressed his seal onto the wax he had placed on the parchment.

“Arthur, may I ask you a question?”

Arthur answered with a raise of his eyebrow.

“Have you ever been in love?”

“In love?” Arthur blinked in surprise.

Rhaegar almost laughed outloud. It was the closest he had ever come to cracking his friend’s unflappable exterior.

“Yes,” he said.

“Why?”

“Have you?” Rhaegar persisted.

“Call Lewyn in here if you want to –”

“It is a yes or no question Arthur. Have you or have you not.”

Arthur shifted uncomfortably in his seat as his brow furrowed in thought and irritation. He looked at rhaegar with a grimace.

“No,” he said.

“No?”

“No,” Arthur repeated.

“How do you know,” Rhaegar asked, looking at his friend curiously.

“I think I would know if I were in love.”

“Do you?” Rhaegar asked as he set the parchment on the raven’s leg and gently pulled it from its cage. It cawed loudly. “Having never experienced it can you be so sure?”

“I am of the kingsguard,” Arthur said solemnly, his hand moving over his heart. “Sworn to protect the king and the royal family with my own life, to obey his command and to keep his secrets. Forsaking all titles, never to marry or sire children, having no worldly allegiance except to my king. A brother for life, until my king or death release me … but preferably my king,” he winked after a pause.

Rhaegar smiled as he walked to the window, but Arthur could see the sadness in his eyes.

“Do you know why the kingsguard take no wives and father no children? So they will not love, for love is the bane of honor and the death of duty. Modeled after the ancient vows of the Night’s Watch, or so I’ve been told,” he chuckled softly as he looked down at the large raven in his hands. “It has been said that my great-grandsire married for love and then conceded to his children, allowing them to marry for love as well. His reign fell to ruin as a result. While my grandfather compelled my father and mother to marry against their wishes. I believe it is safe to say they have never had love for the other and yet their reign shall end none the better.”

Rhaegar released the raven and watched as it flew off into the horizon, becoming smaller and smaller until it became nothing more than a tiny black speck in the reddening sky. Rhaegar stood next to the window and realized that in this moment he stood upon a great precipice. A choice was now before him and whether he were to run or to leap, the cold winds of fate swirled like snow, wildly around him.

Arthur said nothing. Simply waited.

“Arthur”, he said softly, “I need you to do something for me.”

 

* * *

 

 

 

Lyanna looked at her reflection in the mirror and did not recognize who she saw. Her hair hung free about her shoulders but for two plaits loosely braided and pulled back on the sides. Small blue flowers were braided throughout the back. Her dress was made of much finer material than her normal clothing. A pale blue that almost looked silver in a certain light. It was also far more open around the neck and back and snugger around the waist than she was accustomed to. It was the finest dress she owned, made specifically for events like tonight. It was the first time she had ever worn it.

Lyanna looked at the girl in the mirror and thought she looked ridiculous.

There were to be musicians and singing all throughout the outer ruins of Harrenhall this night. The tourney of singers had already begun and the sound of voices lifted in song carried through the air. There was also to be much celebrating. All of the men and their families under her father’s house would be outside to mark Brandon moving to the tilt tomorrow. All of the finalist’s houses would be celebrating, fires and music would be lit throughout all of the camps at Harrenhal. Lyanna had never understood this tradition. On the eve of the tourney’s greatest competition and the honoring of its greatest champion, all of the participants get fall down drunk. It had always seemed a little premature to her. After all, someone had to lose.

Lyanna could hear her brothers’ laughter from the other side of the tent. Brandon was in a particularly boisterous mood have won a place in the final rounds tomorrow. While he had been unseated by Ser Arthur Dayne he had managed to unseat a knight from House Darry, which had been no small task, and secure a spot. There had been much revelry on the part of Robert and her brothers when he won. Robert had grabbed Ned and shook him back and forth as he shouted in triumph with Benjen and her father, arms raised in the air as Brandon did his victory lap. He left the field sore but grinning. Not even her recent transgressions mattered in that moment.

The prince would be continuing on as well, not that it really seemed to surprise anyone. Lyanna had to smile as she watched him. He no longer leaned to the left. She thought that he had changed his stance on almost every run, making him very hard to predict. She struggled to find a fault but she would be damned before she would let him know that.

She had remained in her house seats but as to whether he noticed or not was hard to tell, what with the visor he wore. There was much cheering for the prince as he completed his victory lap, especially from the small folk, whom he always graciously acknowledged. Lyanna found herself standing and clapping along with everyone else.

She wondered if he would be celebrating as well.

 _If he is, it will be with his wife_ , she thought bitterly.

The princess had been to every joust of course but this was the first time Lyanna had truly taken notice of her. She sat in the center box surrounded by her ladies-in-waiting. She was a slender, delicate looking woman and quite pretty, much to Lyanna’s dismay. She looked away from the princess, ashamed of her pettiness.

Robert had made a comment about Brandon having to face the prince in the final run tomorrow, bellowing something about dragons and wild wolves that got many of her father’s bannermen to stomp their feet in support, causing a low rumble to reverberate throughout the stands. This had resulted in several good natured challenges and taunts from the Dornish seats. Mainly those beneath Martell or Dayne banners.

Lyanna had given an obligatory smile at the banter but she already knew what the outcome would most likely be from that contest. She loved her brother, even when he was being an ass, and wanted him to win but knew that in this particular instance, he would be outmatched. The prince was the superior rider. Still, it could be close.

The rest of the day plodded along for Lyanna. Fortunately for her, her father and brother were in such fine moods neither of them protested when she asked to go for her own ride around the encampments. As long as someone accompanied her of course. The two unfortunate bannermen tasked with accompanying her both groaned inwardly. Lyanna was well known for losing her chaperones when riding. Anyone who had been given the task in the past knew that it was not a pleasant ride as much as it was a game of keep up. This day would be no different. Lyanna smiled at the two bannermen. The two bannermen had winced in reply.

It did not take long for Lyanna to lose her companions. She was not even certain they were able to take to their mounts before she lost them. She rode along the edge of the godseye and looked out at the isle of faces. A holy place, Howland had called it. Lyanna supposed it was. Her father had told her and her brothers stories about the first men and the children of the forest and the order of the green men that are said to still reside there. She rode till she reached the shadow of Harrenhall, its great towers loomed over her.

 _He is up there somewhere_ , she thought, _within that enormous monstrosity of a tower. Most likely celebrating with those closest to him. Like his family._

She grimaced at how loathsome she was becoming. This man had no interest in her. He was a prince. Destined to be a king. Married to a princess who one day will be his queen. Who in the seven hells was she to him? No one. Just some silly girl who suffered from delusions of grandeur. He is married and she is promised. That was no other reality than this.

Shouts in the distance grabbed Lyanna’s attention and she turned to see her father’s men riding hard to where she was.

Lyanna had rolled her eyes. They were going to have to do better than that. She spurred her horse to a run and made back towards her tents. She smiled with the memory of them returning to the encampment, believing they would have to report to her father their failure to stay with her only to find that not only had she returned but she had dressed for the evening as well. Ned had tsked at her and said she should stop tormenting those there to help her. Lyanna had stuck her tongue out him in response.

Eventually she came out to join the reverie with the rest of her kin. Robert was among the celebrants and looked to already be well into his cups, although he was nothing less than chivalrous Lyanna. He approached her and offered her his arm, asking her to allow him the honor to escort her to her seat. Lyanna graciously accepted of course, which pleased him to no end.

Lyanna looked at him from the corner of her eye and thought he was just as handsome as any prince. Tall and strong and quite handsome in his own right, any woman would be flattered to have his attentions. But then, many women have had his attentions, and many more will continue to have his attentions, something Lyanna had a difficult time reconciling.

 _Not that I have any right_ , she thought crossly, _considering my own thoughts and actions over the last few days._

It really was shameless.

Robert led her to her seat and took his leave with a soft “my lady” and a light kiss to her hand. Lyanna genuinely smiled at the awkward, uncertainty of his actions and thanked him in response. Robert’s handsome face split into a wide smile and he cleared his throat and looked as if he wanted to say more but then changed his mind as he turned and made his way back towards where his men and her brother Ned sat.

Lyanna had to admit that he could be quite endearing when he wished too. He really was very handsome and any woman would be fortunate to have his attentions.

 _Yes, very fortunate_.

Music from the singer’s tourney floated through the air to where they sat and it was not long before members of their party began to break out in the occasional song or dance themselves. Lyanna smiled politely and laughed where it was appropriate or expected but was not in the moment. She began to feel restless and somewhat resentful at the happy couples that danced jovially around her and was about to excuse herself to return to her tents when shouts from where Ned and Robert were grabbed at her attention. When she turned to see what had caused the commotion she understood why.

Approaching the tents was a large Dornish contingent and with them was none other than the Sword of the Morning, Ser Arthur Dayne. He walked to the tents with one of the most beautiful ladies that Lyanna had ever seen on his arm. Even if she had not noticed her brother Ned go from bright red to fish belly white in a matter of seconds she still would have known her to be the lady Ashara Dayne, Ser Arthur’s sister. Staring at her made Lyanna feel that what she was wearing was all the more laughable. She was tall and slim and yet curved in places that men always fancied and Lyanna felt she still lacked. Her dress was in the style of Dorne and hugged her body, emphasizing those assets. Long dark hair fell in waves down her back, framing a face that bards sing about. She smiled and men swooned, she pouted and men scrambled to please her.

This is what a lady looked like. This is the type of lady who could have her pick of suitors in Westeros. This is what a lady who could steal the heart of a prince looked like. Lyanna knew she was not this lady.

Ser Arthur looked resplendent in gleaming white armor and stood tall over those around him. Even her father seemed small next to the legendary knight. And he was legendary. Considered one of the greatest swordsman alive. Lyanna had only heard stories about him. Stories of the Kingswood Brothers and how he defeated the Smiling Knight. He had always seemed larger than life to Lyanna in those stories. To see him before her now, shining like the fallen star his sword was famous for, she could see why. His hair was lighter than his sister’s and streaked by the sun although his skin was not as dark as was the way with most Dornishmen. Still, he was the very image of what every young maid would wish her dream knight to be. Noble, handsome, and the closest friend and companion to the prince.

She watched as lady Ashara glided into the camp on her brother’s arm all smiles and grace as the men fell each fell over the other to present themselves before her. Lyanna took some small comfort to see that her brothers were not among them. And then she felt pity as she saw Ned looked as if he were desperate to run. Brandon approached Ser Arthur, who practically shone in his brilliant white armor, and offered his hand in greeting and Ser Arthur accepted graciously. Her father then approached Ser Arthur and greeted him as well as Brandon moved to the lady Ashara, bending over her hand to place a kiss and then pushing Ned forward so he could do the same. The five of them stood and talked as Benjen ran up to give doe eyes to the lady and stare in awe at the knight. Lyanna could see her father introduce him and then gesture in her direction. She did not move as four sets of eyes turned their gaze to her.  

Her father returned to talking to Ser Arthur as Ashara took Ned’s arm and walked with him towards Lyanna. She suddenly understood how Ned must feel. Lyanna stood as they approached.

“Lady Ashara, I present to you my sister Lyanna Stark of Winterfell.”

Bright violet eyes beneath dark lashes turned to Lyanna as her perfect heart shaped mouth became a beautiful smile.

“Lady Lyanna,” her voice sang with just the slightest Dornish drawl that made her all the more charming, “you are even lovelier than your brothers have told me.”

Lyanna’s eyes widened in surprise as Ashara took her by the shoulders and planted a kiss on both of her cheeks.

“Well,” Lyanna stuttered with her Northern brogue that made her feel all the more loutish, “they have been known to exaggerate.”

“Nonsense. In fact they did not do you justice,” the vision laughed and turned to her brother. “Why did you not tell me your sister was so beautiful my dear lord Eddard?” she scolded.

Ned, who had been standing as still as a statue looked to Lyanna, his eyes screamed with panic.

“You have to forgive my brothers lady Ashara,” Lyanna quickly intervened, “to be fair, they once slew a boar and considered that the most beautiful sight ever seen.”

The lady laughed and Lyanna likened it to the sound of bells.

“Ah yes, men. It is fortunate they have us to save them from themselves. Brothers especially.” She hugged her brother’s arm as she spoke and Lyanna wondered if Ned’s face could become any pinker. Ashara then reached out and took Lyanna’s hand. “You are very beautiful lady Lyanna, never doubt that. A true winter rose you are.” She let go of Lyanna’s hand. “I hope you brother has much success in the tilt tomorrow. He is a most worthy opponent. And now my lord, if you would be so kind to take me back to my brother. We must hurry if we are to see the singers this night. Good night lady Lyanna.”

Lyanna did not say anything as her brother and the lady Ashara walked away. She only looked after them with surprise. Upon reaching the spot where her father, Ser Arthur and Brandon stood, Ned said his farewells and hastily returned to where Robert and several of his men greeted him with low whistles and the banging of cups against tables. The lady Ashara resumed charming her father and Brandon as she said her goodbyes. Ser Arthur Dayne stood off to the side as he waited for his sister, staring at Lyanna intently.

Lyanna did not notice though. Her attention had turned completely to the small piece of parchment that the lady Ashara had placed into her hand.

She opened it to see a sketch of a wierwood tree.


	6. Chapter 6

Lyanna made her way along the edge of the godswood and stared into the darkness, a small piece of parchment clutched in her hand. It had been easy enough to leave undetected. Her father had returned to his tents early followed surprisingly by Brandon. Lyanna had thought Brandon would remain up well into the night. Perhaps he was serious about winning after all.

Eddard remained but his attention was monopolized by Robert and his companions. Benjen had made a valiant effort to keep pace with Ned and Rob but in the end exhaustion won out. Robert was well into his cups by now and while Ned guided a very sleepy Ben to his tent, Lyanna slipped away completely unnoticed. She had even managed to avoid detection from Howland.

She walked along the edge of the wild till she found the small trail she had taken on her first foray into the godswood. She never hesitated as she passed through the threshold of trees and was enveloped by darkness. She had not even questioned as to whether or not she should even go. It was something other than common sense that guided her now.  

The sun had set and night was upon the woods and it seemed as if it had taken on another life in the absence of light. Noises came from the dark around her. The snapping of branches, the rustling of leaves, the whispering of wind and wings murmuring though the black canopy of trees above her. Lyanna kept her eyes trained forward. She did not know of any bird that moved in such a manner at night nor did she care to know. It was of no concern for her for she was a part of the woods now. She walked along the faint trail as if she had known it all her life. These woods held no fear for her. Wolves are not afraid of the woods.

Lyanna suddenly came to a halt, her cloak catching on a root causing her head to snap back with a little yelp.

 _Of course, some wolves see better in the dark than others_ , she thought bitterly.

Lyanna angrily yanked at the hem and attempted to pull herself free with a silent curse. Unsuccessful on her attempt she knelt down and began to work her cloak free when she heard a sound from somewhere in front of her. While the sound occasional sounds of music from the festival could be heard Lyanna knew this was not the same. Her eyes went wide as froze in place, holding her breath. After a moment she heard it again, soft hushed whispers and the sound of laughter, like the tinkling of bells.

Lyanna carefully began to tear away at the piece of her cloak that was trapped in the brambles, remaining low as she squinted into the dark towards where the noises were originating from. After a moment she realized she had come to the same clearing where she had been waiting for Ben and Howland and apparently it was a very popular meeting place. In the center were two figures entwined around the other almost as intricately as the roots she now found her cloak ensnared in. Every so often a soft gasp or moan would reached Lyanna’s ears causing her face to burn. She could not see who the man was but the woman was clear enough although even if Lyanna could not see her face she would know the woman just by her laugh alone. The lady Ashara Dayne pulled at the tunic of the man atop of her as he pulled at her skirts, lifting them up so her legs could wrap around him, her milky white skin luminescent in the moonlight. Her beautiful face looked up towards the sky as her back arched, nails raking across the man’s back as he buried his face in her chest.

Lyanna’s attempts to free her cloak began slightly more frantic as the sounds from the clearing became heightened and much more intense.

_Oh bloody hells, bloody fucking hells._

Lyanna considered removing her cloak and leaving it behind but if it should be found then there was a possibility she could be found. But the thought of having to remain here and listen to … to … _this_.

Lyanna had finally come to the conclusion that her only option was to curl up into a ball and cover her ears when a hand suddenly came from behind her and covered her mouth. Lyanna felt herself be pulled back against someone and immediately delivered a sharp elbow to the offender’s ribs. She heard a soft “omf” and brought her arm forward for another blow when she felt her something grab her wrist as her arm became constrained. She then bit down as hard as she could on the hand over her mouth and felt a moment’s satisfaction as she heard her attacker grunt in pain. But only a moment of satisfaction, because as she bit down till she tasted blood she also caught a brief glimpse of white gold hair. Lyanna stopped struggling as her assailant relaxed their grip and moved in front of her. She found herself looking into deep indigo eyes.

_Oh by all the old gods and the new, this is not happening._

The prince let go of her wrist and brought a finger to his lips. Lyanna rolled her eyes and nodded her head yes. The prince gave her a ghost of a smile and removed his hand from her mouth and then reached down and began to carefully tear at her cloak.

Lyanna sat there as the prince freed her cloak and pretended not to hear the sounds that were very obviously coming from the clearing beside them. After a moment she was free and he took her hand, moving in front of her as he led her away from the clearing.

They walked a familiar trail and Lyanna was not surprised when they came upon the weirwood tree. She found herself much more aware of her surroundings than before, especially since the godswood seemed to be a popular destination for lovers seeking to have a tryst.

 _So what does that make you_ , she thought caustically.

The woods opened up to a familiar space and Lyanna looked up to see the terrible old heart tree scowling down at her. The prince turned to her and placed a finger to his lips once more as he disappeared into the surrounding darkness. Lyanna stood there alone, the faint sound of music floated through the air as the great tree stared down in judgement at her. After a moment he returned.

“I can find no trace of anyone having been here. I believe that we are alone.”

They stood and stared at each other for several seconds before Lyanna began to giggle and the prince began to smile. Lyanna was unsure of whether she laughed because of the awkwardness of the scene they stumbled upon or because of her nerves at meeting with him again. The prince just grinned and looked down at his hand.

“The wolves of the north have sharp teeth,” he said with a little half smile.

“The dragons of Dragonstone have thin skin,” she sniffed in reply. “What did you think would happen sneaking up on me like that?”

“I had thought you would have thanked me. You would still be huddled in the bushes had I not come along.”

“I will have you know that I had everything under complete control,” she huffed and marched over to where he stood, snatching his hand and turning it over to look at it.

“Of course you did.”

 “Oh it’s barely even a scratch you big ninny,” she scoffed. “I suppose I broke your ribs as well?”

“Now that you mention it ….” Rhaegar rubbed at his side tenderly.

“Oh stop your whining. Are you truly so easily brought down by some little girl?”

“This was not just any little girl,” he said looking at Lyanna. “You look lovely.”

“Ah this? Yes. I mean thank you. I was, we were celebrating. Brandon and the joust,” she stammered, pulling her hand from his. She thought she must sound like a buffoon. Still, she took off her cloak and set it down upon the roots and took a seat, arranging her dress around her nonchalantly.

“Yes, he has moved up to the final lists as well,” the prince said as moved so he could lean against an old tree next to her. “I could not help but notice you had kept your seats today.”

“I could not help but notice you almost lost yours,” she retored.

Rhaegar smiled. “I never once believed you would not notice.”

“You did stop leaning to the left though, I will give you that.”

“You are too kind,” he responded with an incline of his head.

“Don’t be smug.”

“Never.”

Lyanna gave the prince a disparaging look as he grinned at her. She shook her head and looked down at where her hands lay in her lap, fidgeting with the piece of parchment still in her hand. They sat in what could only be called an awkward silence once more. Lyanna found it deafening. It seemed to Lyanna as if he wanted to speak as he stood before her, shifting his weight back and forth on his feet. She found it fascinating how he could make floundering look graceful.

“You do look lovely this night,” he finally said after a pause.

“So I heard,” she muttered back.

Rhaegar looked at her confused. “What do you mean?”

“Oh nothing, forgive me. That was rude. Earlier this evening Ser Arthur Dayne and his sister, the lady Ashara came by our tents,” Lyanna held up the parchment. “But then you already knew that yes?”

“Ah yes,” the prince said, now looking down at his hands, “I suppose I did.”

“Yes, well she had compared me to a winter rose, which was rather amusing coming from her.”

“And why is that?”

“Because she is beautiful,” she said incredulously. “Have you never seen the lady Ashara?”

“I have met her before yes,” he replied, looking down. Lyanna’s eyes narrowed. Was he smiling?

“Then you know how beautiful she is.”

“I have heard her described as such yes.”

“Have you? And you do not find these comments coming from one like her to one like me to be somewhat absurd?”

Rhaegar looked at Lyanna curiously. “I have never known the lady Ashara to be insincere. Do you feel that you are somehow unworthy of this?”

“I suppose you are going to tell that I am?”

“Indeed. In truth, I must admit that I am somewhat perturbed that I had not thought of such a compliment myself. ‘A true winter rose’,” he mused, “it suits you.”

Lyanna studied the prince who met her stare unflinching. In that moment it seemed as if the air would ignite, sparking and electric with ozone. His eyes held hers and she spoke before she even realized what she was saying.

“Why did you bring me here?”

“I … I needed to see you.”

“Why do you need to see me?”

Rhaegar looked at Lyanna, the sadness in his eyes mad her heart ache.

“Is that not obvious,” he said softly.

Lyanna did not speak. She could not even if she had wanted to for her throat had gone suddenly dry. She looked down and away, suddenly afraid of what might happen if she continued to look into his eyes.

The music continued to drift through the woods. The voices of the singers carried through the night.

“Jenny of Oldstones,” she said.

“What?”

“The song, Jenny of Oldstones. That is what they are singing.”

“With the flowers in her hair.”

“Yes!” she laughed.

“Would you like to dance?”

Lyanna blinked in surprise. “What?”

“Dance,” he repeated, “you do dance in the north, do you not?”

Lyanna gave him a flat look.

“When occasion calls for it.”

“What better occasion is there than standing before an angry weir tree in the middle of a dark woods?” He grabbed her hands and pulled her to her feet. Lyanna laughed.

“You can barely hear the music,” she protested weakly.

“I can improvise,” he smiled.

He took her hand once more in his as his other hand lightly lay against her lower back. Lyanna gripped her skirts in her free hand so as not to trip on them. He pulled her close.

“Relax,” he said.

“I am relaxed,” she snapped.

“Oh I can tell.”

“Just get on with it,” she sighed.

Rhaegar smiled and listened to the music that drifted through the trees. After a moment he began to hum softly and gently led Lyanna to the music.

“ _Jenny of Oldstones,_ ” he sang softly, “ _with the flowers in her hair …”_

He guided Lyanna around the small clearing as he sang. She had worried about falling or tripping on a root or moss but he led her expertly. They would spin and she would laugh and she found herself becoming lost in his voice.

“ _In the high halls of the kings who are gone …”_

His voice had a light, husky quality to it. She could close her eyes without fear of falling as his voice wrapped around her.

“ _Jenny would dance with her ghosts …_ ”

It was a sad song. A song of longing. A song of memory. Of lost loves and love lost. The kind of song to make girls weep. The words sang of sacrifice and loss. There would be no happy endings, not for poor Jenny. She rested her head against his chest as he spun her carefully along the edge of the stream.

“ _Jenny of Oldstones,_ ” he sang softly, “ _with the flowers in her hair …_ ”

It took a second for Lyanna to realize that he had stopped singing and that they were no longer moving.  She looked up to meet dark purple eyes that stared back down at her. She thought she may drown in the sorrow she saw there. She felt his hands move to the side of her face as he gently wiped away a tear she had not known she shed. Her world was spinning. She no longer knew where she was.

“You are married …” she whispered.

“I know,” he replied sadly, “and you are promised.”

“I know,” she surrendered.

His lips brushed against hers as he spoke and she shivered at the touch. They stood there, still as stone for a moment, mouths barely touching. Too frightened to go any further, too reckless to stop. Her heart pounded rapidly in her chest, surely he could hear it. She was helpless she realized, they both were. She was sinking beneath a dizzying tide of warmth that swept her up, leaving her limp. After what seemed an eternity, his lips gently covered hers, soft and tender. One hand moved from the side of her face to the small of her back as she pulled herself closer against him. Her lips parted beneath his as the kiss intensified and she clung to him, the last solid thing in her rapidly spiraling world.

She would give everything to him, to this man. She would give him all of her. Mind, body, and soul if he wished it. She would lay her body upon the ground and give herself entirely for there could never be another who would make her feel this way. It terrified her, the certainty of this.

Eventually the kiss came to a slow reluctant halt although one did not move away from the other. They stood, their foreheads pressed together, lips just barely touching, clinging to the other. She felt his arms around her, she could feel them trembling, or perhaps it was her. She could no longer tell. All coherent thought had fled.

“Lyanna,” his voice came out a throaty whisper as his lips brushed hers when he spoke. “My winter rose. My Jenny of Oldstones.”

Lyanna gave a sad, soft little laugh. She would lose herself to him if she stayed. She would lose herself forever.

“No,” she said gently, “this cannot be. You are married, you have a child. I am promised. It is done. There is no changing this. What place in this world is there for us? You cannot acknowledge me and if you did, what then? You your self have said that your father is not in his right mind and you would walk away and leave others to his mercy? You would walk away and throw a kingdom into turmoil and for what? Some girl from the north?”

“You are not just some girl –”

“I am just some girl,” she spat angrily, pushing herself back and away from him. “All I would ever be is just some girl! You must be mad not to know that! Just some girl who is never to be spoken of, never to be known or acknowledged. Some secret to be kept as just another tryst at a tourney –”

“Do you truly believe me to be so base as this,” he voice came out a pained rasp that caused Lyanna to flinch, “to treat you in such a manner? Do not mistake me for some boy who plays the game of bedding the seven. I have weighed the risk against my worth and know I am found wanting.” He shut his eyes tight as his hands clenched into fists. “My life has been determined since the day I was born. Since before I was born. I have only ever done what is expected of me. I have lived my life according to a prophecy that I do not even understand … not anymore.”

Rhaegar opened his eyes and looked at Lyanna and it seemed to her that his eyes burned with a queer light. He dropped to his knees before her.

“You said to me once that one cannot lie when in the presence of a weir tree. I tell you now, Lyanna Stark of Winterfell, with all of your old gods as witness, whether this is madness or love I cannot say but I know now that I can no longer deny what I feel. It consumes me, my thoughts, my dreams, so much so that I cannot accept that my finding you was strictly by a cup of chance. If you do not feel the same then you have but to say it and I will leave and trouble you no more …”

Lyanna stood silent before him. She could feel the heavy blood red stare of the heart tree bearing down on her. She brought trembling hands to the side of his face as her eyesight blurred from the welling of her tears.

“… but if, by some chance you do, “he continued hesitantly, “then all you have to do is say it and I will rend the world for you.”

“I do not believe in prophecies,” she whispered, “they are silly, fanciful things made up of words that can be translated for the wants of whoever needs them.” Her fingers wound their way through his hair as he brought his head to rest against her chest. “But I tell you now, Rhaegar Targaryen of Dragonstone, with the old gods and the new as my witness that if this is fate, then the fates have decreed that you have my heart and for me there can be no other.” Rhaegar brought his arms around her waist and held her tight. “But fate is also cruel … for our paths have already been laid out before us … you are married and I am promised.”

She took her hands from his hair, moving them to where his held on to her waist and gently freed herself from his grip. His arms hung limp at his sides as he sat back on his knees. He did not look up at her.

Lyanna kept her head turned from him as she grabbed her cloak from the tree. She did not want him to see the shame of her tears.

She moved quickly to the edge of the clearing, stopping just short of the tree line. She did not look back to see that he still knelt, motionless in the dark.

“You are the Prince of Dragonstone,” she called out, “the future ruler of the seven kingdoms. In time this will be nothing more than some child’s fancy to you. A fleeting memory in a lifetime of achievements my lord.” She tried to laugh but it came out sounding hollow and bitter to her ears. Her words nothing more than a cold knife to her heart.

She disappeared into the woods, never hearing the prince’s response.

“No,” he whispered sadly, “it won’t.”

 

* * *

 

 

Lyanna woke the next morning to a bustle of energy and excitement from her brothers. The conversations were loud and raucous. Food was thrown and rowdy behavior prevailed throughout their morning meal. Even Ned piped up with several comments of his own, much to Brandon and Benjen’s amusement. Her father sat at the head of the table smiling as he ate, patiently waiting for them to finish and move on.  Their excitement was infectious. All who entered the room, from bannermen to serving maid left with a smile and a jump in their step.

Lyanna was grateful for this for it pulled attention away from herself.

She did not sleep well that night, if in fact she had slept at all. While everything moved swiftly around her, she felt as if she trudged through waist deep water that was only getting higher as continued on. She had waited as long as she could in hopes that the swelling had gone down after crying herself to sleep. When she woke she had been horrified at her appearance, her face red and puffy, her nose raw and runny. She had called for a basin of cold water and held her face in it till she could not hold her breath any longer.

Lyanna was disgusted with her weakness. She was behaving like some ridiculous little git. She had no place in his world. She was a fool to have allowed herself to ever believe otherwise. This was not like her.

But then Lyanna no longer knew what she was like.

She knew nothing.

She dressed in her house colors. She wore a high collar grey dress with white trim. She was a Stark after all and would look the part this day. Her hair she left free about her shoulders. She did not even bother to pull it back.

Brandon left for the tilt early with her brothers in tow. A pack of wolves on the move. She was envious of their joy and ashamed at herself for feeling relief when they left. She was sitting at the table of the now quiet tent, staring at her plate when she felt a hand cup her chin and pull her face upwards. Lyanna looked up to see her father staring down at her. He studied her face with concern.

“Are you not well?”

“I am fine.” She forced out a smile.

He looked at her a moment longer before bending down and placing a kiss atop her head.

They arrived to the tourney and took their seats beneath their house banners snapping proudly in the breeze. They were near the end of the honored seats. House Royce with their banner of runestones flew next to theirs with the Targaryen dragon banner in the middle followed a plain white banner representing those of the kingsguard.  While Ser Arthur and Ser Barristan did not fly their traditional house banners, their houses were given honor seats among the other champions and so banners for house Dayne and Selmy flew as well. Lyanna looked over towards the Targaryen seats and saw the princess sitting with her ladies.

The seats were full this day, the final day of the tourney. The crowds roared their excitement as the champions took to the field. Lord Dayne rode led the champions out onto the field first in his deep red armor covered in runes. He was followed by Ser Barristan who was followed by Ser Arthur both shining in gleaming silver armor, white shields at their sides. The Dornish stands cried out cheers to the Sword of the Morning. Brandon rode out next. He sat tall in his saddle, wearing his gray armor with white chainmail beneath and a great direwolf engraved across his chest. The shouts around her were deafening, with Benjen and Rob competing for who could be the loudest. Still Lyanna could not help but smile as she saw her brother ride out and she thought he belonged there among the champions. But it was not till the last rider took the field that the crowd truly opened up.

The Prince of Dragonstone rode out in his night black armor atop a stallion of the same color. Gold chainmail winked out from beneath the black and brilliant red dragon snaked across his chest while another dragon sat atop his helm. The small folk cheered as they did for no other on the field.

The champions circled the tilt, making their way all the way around till they returned to the honored seats stopped, lined up in a row. After the crowd died down the king made his entrance. The crowd hushed as he made his way to the high seats, hunched over and pale, even from here she could see the long twisting nails that seemed to drip from his fingertips like snakes. She could not help but wonder how one so old and twisted could be responsible for the creation of something as beautiful as his son.

Lyanna turned as faced forward as the king took his seat. She looked at the champions lined up before her. She did not want to look him so of course she did. She did not think he looked at her. His visor was down so she could not tell but his helm remained turned towards the king so she did not think he took notice of her. Not that he would. Not that he ever would again, not after last night. She looked away, afraid her traitorous female heart would give her away.

The king took his seat and the champions left the field to the roar of the crowd. The first two riders took to the tilt as the others rode off to their squires. Lord Yohn took one end and the prince the other.

It would take three lances for the prince to unseat Lord Yohn Royce. The final run delivered a crushing blow to the old lord you jumped up from the ground with a loud barking laugh as he walked off the field to the cheers and whistles of the crowd. It was a resounding win for the prince.

Lyanna looked to see the prince return to his end of the tilt and wait as Brandon took the field.

Lyanna had held her breath and prayed that Brandon would win. Truly she wished he would. She also wished that she could say that her reasons for wanting him to win was due to the bonds of sisterly love and devotion to family. But she was far too selfish for that. Her reasons were petty and cruel. She simply did not wish to see the prince crown the princess.

Lyanna hated herself in that moment.

But it mattered little in the end. Brandon did not win, much as Lyanna had expected. Although it had taken more lances than she had thought. It took four lances in the end. Four lances and the prince had unseated her brother. Brandon had ridden hard and put up a good fight. Had this been a race there would have been no way the prince would have won. But they were not racing.

Still, four lances was nothing to scoff at. Especially since the prince brought down Ser Arthur with the same amount.

The crowd was working themselves into a frenzy with the prince’s concurrent victories.

“The dragon has taken the field,” someone shouted from somewhere within the Dornish seats, “and seeks to crown his queen!”

Dornish seats went wild with that.

Lyanna looked away as the prince and Ser Barristan took to the tilt.

“You’re quiet today,” Ned said from where he sat next to her.

“I have nothing to say I suppose.”

“Well that’s new,” said Ben from behind them. He quickly jumped back to avoid the elbow aimed at his shin. The crowd around them cheered as the riders began the run.

“Get off Ben! I’m not in the mood today.”

“Sit back Ben,” chided Ned.

A loud crash from the field drew their attention back to the tilt as the crowd cheered.

“Are you not well though?” Ned asked again. “You seem to be elsewhere today.”

“No Ned,” she said a bit more sharply than she intended. She looked at her brother’s face and immediately regretted her tone. Dear sweet Ned. Lyanna rarely worried because she knew that Ned worried enough for everyone. “No,” she said much more gently than before, “I’m fine. I promise. Just disappointed for Bran is all. I had hoped he would win.”

It was not exactly a lie. But her reply seemed to satisfy Ned.

“We knew the prince would be a challenge. Four lances is still well done.”

“Perhaps Ser Barristan will emerge triumphant.”

There was another crash as the crowd cheered.

“Not this time I’m afraid,” Ned observed.

The sound of hooves thundering down the tilt pulled her caused her to look just in time to see the prince unseat Ser Barristan. The crowd rose to their feet and cheered like mad.

“The tilt was his from the moment he took to the field,” Ned said as he clapped.

The prince took his victory lap around the tilt as the crowd roared. As he finished up his lap an attendant from house Whent came forth with a crown of blue winter roses and hung it on the end of the prince’s lance. Whistles and shouts came from the crowd as the prince rode out to crown the queen of love and beauty.

Lyanna felt ill. She did not wish to see this. She wanted to leave.

She placed her arm around Ned’s. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah,” he said, “I suppose everyone knows how this part ends.”

“What the bloody hell,” Benjen exclaimed from behind them.

Lyanna and Ned both turned simultaneously around to give Ben a mixed look of surprise and amusement.

“Ben!” cried Ned with a laugh. But Ben did not take any notice of them. Indeed, no one took any notice of him. Lyanna noticed how Ben and all those around him had gone quiet as they stared onto the field in shock. In fact Lyanna began to notice how the entire crowd had gone eerily quiet.

She and Ned both followed Ben’s line of sight back towards the field to find the prince astride his great black stallion with his lance extended before them, a wreath of blue winter roses dangling from the end.

Lyanna did not move. She could not move. She did not even breathe.

After a moment the prince nudged his stallion forward till the crown was over Lyanna’s lap and gently set it down. He then raised his lance and rode off of the field.


	7. Chapter 7

Lyanna sat very still as she stared at the small wreath of blue winter roses that rested on the table before her, still in a semi state of shock from the events that played out earlier in the day. Somewhere else in the tent, her brother Brandon raged to her gather but she was only vaguely aware. Her father had not attended that the final tilt that morn. Instead he had prepared to leave that day for Riverrun, intending to meet with lord Hoster Tully over the impending nuptials between Brandon and Catelyn Tully. But now he sat at the end of the long table in his tents, studying the small crown of roses almost as intently as Lyanna, and listened as Brandon railed against the affront to House Stark’s honor.

She had been startled when the prince had presented her with the crown. She had been stunned when he set it in her lap when she could not move. She had been in a state of shock as she picked up the circle of blue roses, staring at it wide eyed. But that wore off quickly.

A sea of eyes now stared at her where she sat. A low murmur began to hum through the crowd and she could hear her name among the whispers. She had become painfully aware of the silent accusations within the eyes that were now keenly focused in on her. Ned was as well. He had placed a protective arm around her shoulders.

“Let’s go,” he said as he stood her up and led her out of the seats with Benjen close behind.

They moved at a brusque pace back to their tents.

Lyanna would hear later that Robert had laughed and declared that this was not surprising. Lyanna was by far the fairest maiden here and the prince was simply paying her due. But Ned would later tell her that in truth, Robert had quietly fumed, furious at the implications of the prince’s actions. Ned did not believe that relations would ever be the same between those two houses from this. But while Robert had surprisingly kept his peace while in public, Brandon did not.

“We can’t just stand by and allow such an insult, he shouted. Prince of Dragonstone or no, we can’t allow such a slight. He has insulted her honor! Your daughter, my sister! What the hells is he trying to say? I’ll run him through for this. I would have run him through at the tourney with the gods and that gnarled old excuse of a king as witness if not for Kyle and Elbert holding me back!”

“Hold your tongue. We are not –”

“I will not hold my tongue! Not for this! Not for what he has done! Has called her honor into question. Do you know what is being said? The vile filth and comments that is passing though the other houses? She has done nothing to deserve this yet she is the one who is being dragged through the muck while he sits safe in his tower. And you do nothing. You would have me sit here and do nothing –”

Her father’s hand came down on the table with a deafening thud causing the tent to fall into silence as everyone jumped at the sound.

“You forget who you are talking to boy. It is for me to decide what you will do. And what you will do is hold your tongue. What you will do is compose yourself. What you will do is act like the lord you will one day become but aren’t yet!”

Brandon’s mouth had become a thin tight line and his spine stiffened as their father spoke. The muscle in his jaw fluttered as his teeth clenched, but he said nothing. It was Ned who spoke up next in that quiet cautious way of his.

“But Brandon is right father. What else could this be taken as other than a question of her honor. Why, right now the other Houses are saying –

“I don’t give a damn what the other Houses are saying and neither will you. Bloody Southron Houses and their bloody Great Game, an elaborate practice in nothing but idle gossip. We are of the North and we don’t take part in their petty shit. No House of the North questions her honor. Nor will they.”

Her father pinched the space between his eyes and sighed.

“Gods I hate the south,” he muttered.  Dropping his hand to his side he walked over to where Lyanna sat and placed a hand to the side of her face as she looked up at him. His eyes showed nothing but concern and not a hint of suspicion or doubt to her innocence. Why would he? He looked down at her and gave her a gently smile, a loving smile, a trusting smile.

Lyanna had nothing but contempt for herself in that moment.

“Gather your things, all of you,” he finally said. “Just enough to travel. You are all coming with me to Riverrun. Willem!” A young man appeared through the flaps of the tent. “You will see to the striking of the tents and the return of the main encampment. We however, will leave within the hour.”

This brought a carefully controlled objection from Brandon.

“But the final feast is tonight,” he objected. “If we leave then that will only give credence to this slander. We will be seen as cowards. We …”

Their father turned and looked at Brandon who stopped talking.

“Within the hour,” he repeated. This time there was no argument.

Brandon left immediately while their father called for a groomsman to prepare their horses as all of his children would now be riding out as well. Ned walked over to where Lyanna sat.

“Are you alright?”

Lyanna nodded yes but said nothing.

“You didn’t do anything wrong you know,” he reassured. “None of this is your fault. You bear no shame from this, Brandon won’t allow it. I won’t allow it.”

Lyanna nodded but still said nothing.

Ned placed a hand on her shoulder before leaving the tent. Lyanna looked up to see Benjen staring at her from across the tent. She had not even realized he was there, so uncharacteristically quiet he was. He stared at her fixedly and it seemed to Lyanna that he may speak and so she waited. She waited to finally hear someone question her innocence. To call for testimony to her guilt. To finally demand to know the truth. But Ben said nothing and after a moment he too left the tent.

Lyanna sat alone in the tent, the crown of roses seemed to stare back at with silent accusations. She stood up and walked over to the table. The guilt she bore weighed and gnawed at her soul. She would wear her guilt like a shroud about her. She deserved to suffer for what she had done, for what she was now putting her family through. She would suffer through the pain of the lies she allowed her family to believe. She was a base, vile, lowly thing for her lies. She deserved this shame, every bit of it.

She reached down to the wreath on the table and worked a small blue rose free.

She felt terrible over what she had done. Brandon could be taken to the king for treason for the things he has said. Ned had stated his willingness to call out the prince as well to defend her honor. And poor sweet Benjen who had some idea of the truth and yet still said nothing, making him complicit in her guilt. A burden he did not deserve.

Lyanna held the bloom close to her face and took in the sweet fragrance.

She should be drowning in her guilt. She should suffocate beneath the weight of her lie.

Lyanna closed her eyes as she pressed the rose to her chest, the ghost of a smile on her lips.

 

* * *

 

 

Arthur stood upon one of the smaller guard towers along the decrepit walls of Harrenhall and watched as a party of riders rode out from the main encampment westward. It was not a large group. Two bannermen and a small contingent of guards rode alongside five other riders, and yet large enough. She was with them, this Lyanna Stark of Winterfell.

Lord Stark had been wise to take her from here. He had been wise to take them all from here. Arthur had heard the comments of Brandon Stark. It had taken several of his companions to hold him back from physically confronting the prince. Arthur should have taken him for threats against the crown. Fortunately for the young lord, there were unknown mitigating circumstances that stayed Arthur’s hand. One of them being that Arthur agreed with him.

He could not begin to guess what could have inspired Rhaegar to do something like this. Certainly not this northern girl. She was pretty yes, but he had to have some idea as to how it would look. Not to mention the position it put the girl and her family in. It was unlike him to act in this manner, at the same time he felt he should have known. He should have seen this coming.

The princess had handled it with characteristic grace and decorum but even Arthur could see the pain in her eyes. She had left the tilt almost as quickly as the Stark girl did.

No, it was not like Rheagar to do something like this. Not at all.

The sound of footsteps behind him and the soft ringing of chainmail alerted him to another’s presence. He did not turn, he did not have too. He knew the sound of the steps for all of the members of the kingsguard. Ser Oswell Whent walked up alongside of Arthur and leaned against the falling ramparts. He looked out at the departing party.

“Lord Rikard has left for Riverrun. His people are tearing down the rest of the encampment and will leave in the morning.” He squinted into the sun. “That them then?”

“Aye.”

“She with them?”

“Aye.”

Oswell sucked the air between his teeth. “Well, that should go over well.”

Arthur glanced at Oswell from the corner of his eye. “Mmm.”

“Just what happened today Arthur.”

“I cannot say Oswell,” Arthur sighed, “because I am not certain myself.”

“Oh, well that bodes well,” Oswell murmured.

“He is not himself Oswell. His mind is far afield, more so than ever before I believe. He has not confided in me as he has done in the past, not yet at least. And I am not of a mind to push him.”

“Oh don’t give me your sanctimonious shit Arthur. You know something. I thought he wished me to talk Walter into having a tourney so he could meet with the high lords. Not so he could put to question some little northern girls honor.”

“Take care,” Arthur warned, giving Oswell a cold look, “this is your prince you refer to, and my friend. Your friend too last I remember. Do you really believe that was his intent?”

“Of course not,” Oswell snapped back, “but her people certainly do. And rightfully so. Do you not agree?” Oswell nodded when Arthur did not answer. “That is what I thought. What is it then? Just what is in his head? You must have some idea.”

Arthur let out a slow breath as he looked away. He leaned up against the wall as he rubbed at his temples. After a moment he dropped his hands to his sides and looked at Oswell.

“Love.”

Oswell blinked. “Love?” He said in disbelief. “Has he forgotten he is married?”

Arthur gave him a flat look. “I assure you he has not.”

“Can you?” Oswell snorted. “You seem rather uncertain about everything else.” Oswell looked out over the wall in the direction where they last saw the party of riders. “Love eh? Well lets hope he’ll write a couple of songs and get it out of his system …” Oswell stopped talking and turned to Arthur, his eyes wide with a sudden realization. “He’s not going to drag us to fucking Summerhall after this, is he? I fucking hate that place. You know I fucking hate that place. Oh fucking hells, we are going to have to go to fucking Summerhall.”

Arthur shook his head as his friend buried his face in his hands as he leaned against the wall. Arthur hoped that Oswell was right. That Rhaegar would take them Summerhall and write a couple of songs. He prayed to the seven that it would be as simple as that.

 

* * *

 

 

Rhaegar sat alone in his room and stared into the dying fire before him. He should stir it, he should get up and breathe life back into the flames. Instead he did nothing. Only sat and gazed into the fading embers.

He was pathetic.

Arthur had come to him earlier to inform him that she had left with her brothers and father. It was believed they were on their way to Riverrun. Although he did not say it, Rhaegar knew that Arthur did not approve of his actions at the tilt today. Even though it had never been his intent, Lyanna’s honor was now being questioned and Elia, well, he had laid a grave insult at her feet as well. She had said nothing to him and more than likely would not, even though he deserved it. She had every right to hate him. Every right call him out, to curse him. But that was not her way. And that only made him feel worse.

He wished he could explain to her why. He wished he could bear this pain alone, and not subject these women to his selfishness. But he could not. He could not continue the lie when the truth burned fierce in his heart. The next time he would see her she would most likely no longer be Lady Lyanna Stark of Winterfell. She would be Lady Lyanna Baratheon of Storm’s End. This truth tore at his being and he could not let her leave without her knowing.

It was a selfish, petty, childish thing for him to do. Perhaps he was going mad.

He hoped that Elia would never forgive him.

Rhaegar heard the latch on the great door release as it opened and closed. He listened as soft footsteps lightly echoed through room till they came to a stop beside him.

Rhaegar did not look up. He was a pitiful coward. After a moment they took a seat next to him in front of the fire.

“I do not mean to disturb you my prince …”

Rhaegar turned his head in her direction but did not look up at her face.

“You would never disturb me Elia. You may enter whenever you feel.”

His voice sounded hollow and empty to his ears. They both sat staring at the fire for a moment.

“I had hoped you would dine with us this night,” she said in her soft Dornish lilt.

“Forgive me. I was not hungry.”

Silence descended once more between them. Rhaegar hated the quiet. She deserved an explanation, an apology at the very least. But he could say nothing. He could give her nothing. He was not worthy of her love and wished she would tell him so at the top of her lungs. After a moment Elia stood up.

“Forgive me my prince, I can see that you wish to be alone and so I will take my leave. But there is something I must tell you …”

Rhaegar turned his head once more in her direction, still too much of a coward to look her in the eye.

“I am with child Rhaegar.”

Rhaegar looked up at her now, his eyes wide. Elia looked at him, waif thin and lovely in the dying light. She stared at him, her dark eyes unaccusing, wide and hopeful. Rhaegar stood up slowly and walked over to where she stood, taking her face in his hands.

Rhaenys birth had taken a harsh toll on her. The risks would be great if it came to a second.

“Are you certain?”

She smiled. “Two moons in,” she replied.

Rhaegar pulled her into an embrace.

“Oh Elia,” he whispered.


	8. Chapter 8

Lyanna sat beneath the heart tree of within the godswood of Winterfell and wiped away a tear as it trailed down her cheek. Great bone white limbs stretched around her like arms as blood red leaves dripped from long thin fingers towards the ground. The air was crisp and there was now only the occasional spot of snow still left upon the ground, holding desperately onto the cold, not wishing to let go of winter. But even now it was warm enough to be outdoors without a heavy cloak. Lyanna sat among the roots with nothing but an overdress and gloves. It would seem that the false spring had at last let go the lie to become truth. It was a wondrous thing to Lyanna, having never seen the summer she had been looking forward to this since she was little. It was considered a time of renewal, of rebirth. It was a time to celebrate the survival and resilience of the Northmen against the winter, against the cold.

Yes, Lyanna had been looking forward to this for some time.

A white raven had come this morning from the citadel. Spring had come. Which meant that soon they would make for Riverrun for Brandon's marriage to Caetlyn Tully, and then to Storm's End almost immediately after.

Storm's End. She supposed it was an end alright. Lyanna wiped at her face once more with a pathetic little sniffle.

But that was not the only raven to come to Winterfell that morning. A second raven had also been received and with it an announcement.

An announcement that had been heralded by raven to all corners of the land.

A royal announcement.

Lyanna looked down at the book on her lap. She opened the leather bound cover and flipped absently through the pages till she stopped at a specific point. She pulled gently pulled two of the pages apart to expose a blue winter rose that had been pressed between.

Three months had passed since the tourney at Harrenhal. They had left the tourney that morning abruptly, arriving at Riverrun that evening. Lyanna had been put up in Brandon's future wife's room, as Catelyn and her sister were not at Riverrun at the moment. Something Lyanna suspected Brandon was grateful for.

She had kept her opinions to herself though. She was in no mood to share.

The next morning their father would send Lyanna, Brandon, and Benjen on to Winterfell while Ned would make for the Kingsroad with a group of Lord Tully's men to join with Robert and from there they would head to the Eryie and Lord Arryn. Their father would stay behind to finalize details with Lord and Lady Tully.

Lyanna hated to see Ned leave. It seemed to her that the older they became the less they were able to see of each other. Soon Brandon would be wed and one day lord of Winterfell. Lyanna would be sent away to the Stormlands while Ned would more than likely join the Night's Watch with Benjen close behind. The future of the Stark children was well secured. Their fates seemingly sealed.

It would take another three to four days of travel before they would reach Winterfell. And that was only if the weather permitted and they did not make any unnecessary stops between. While the trip to Riverrun had been predominantly silent, the mood lightened the closer they came to home. Brandon always did enjoy being in the lead and it was not long before he was laughing once more at some foolishness of Benjen's or enjoying a quick hunt while on the road. It seemed that the further north they traveled the more jovial the mood became. Normally Lyanna would have joined them in this, pitting her tracking skills against theirs, competing to see who could catch the biggest game, tempting Ben into some sort of mischief. But on this trip she remained mostly to herself. Brandon would seek her out periodically throughout the trip. Reassuring her of her innocence. Repeating their father's words on how no house of the North would question her honor in this matter and how they would defend her against anyone who would dare affront. Not that anyone would dare. Brandon had even jested that it was for the best that they left when they did, claiming that once Lyanna had regained her head from the insult she would have taken the pretty little prince off his horse herself, throwing the kingdom into turmoil.

Lyanna would say nothing during these conversations. She allowed him to continue to believe her silence was due to the trying situation her sensitive woman's heart was just put through. And perhaps there was some truth to that for her heart was not the same since Harrenhal. Lyanna did not think that anything would ever be the same again.

And indeed, upon arriving at Winterfell, Lyanna did not feel the relief she had hoped she would feel in familiar surroundings. Instead she felt fenced in, trapped. It was as if Winterfell was no longer her home but a holding area, somewhere she had to wait till she was sent away to do her duty.

Maester Walys had met them in the main hall when they arrived, giving Brandon the reports and messages that had arrived by man or raven while they were away. Their father would not return for another two nights at the least, and so Brandon was the acting lord of Winterfell till he arrived. Lyanna listened vaguely as maester Walys rambled on about wildlings at the wall, a nasty rumor about the Bolton's practicing first night and something about a raven in the rookery that refuses to come down from the rafters. Lyanna had no interest in anything he said. She was not very fond of maester Walys, not one bit. Although she had no proof, she strongly suspected that he had something to do with her and Brandon's betrothals. Her father only seemed interested in what happened in the South when he was around.

Of course, if it had not been for maester Walys they would not have gone to Harrenhal. He had told her father that it would be good for House Stark to attend, as the houses of the North were often overlooked or taken for granted. It was important to be seen at functions such as these, to be recognized and acknowledged. And so her father decided that he was right and relented. Lyanna wondered if he still thought it a good idea.

She suppressed a dark little smile at the thought of her father discussing with maester Walys at just how they were acknowledged while at the tourney.

Her brothers settled themselves back in to the normal rhythm of things once home. Sparring and hunting and the like. Once their father returned Lyanna also returned to those things that were familiar and comforting to her. With the coming of the spring she was able to spend more time out riding. The days were getting longer and no one seemed to notice her absence when she was riding. It was typical of her to spend hours out on horseback. Her father would always send someone out with her when she roamed, often a banner man or some poor vassal, but they could never keep up and Lyanna would always lose them. Her rides would usually end when Brandon or Ned was sent out to fetch her.

Of course Ned was gone now. She hated it when he left. She would miss him terribly while he was gone. She missed all of her brothers when they were gone. And soon she would be gone, replaced by Brandon's new bride.

Lyanna squeezed her eyes shut against a new swell of tears that threatened to flow. It was unfair. It was so unfair.

A tear streaked down her cheek and dropped onto the open book in her lap. She wiped furiously at her face once more and clutched the book to her chest.

There was once slight difference in her behavior since returning. Lyanna had taken an interest in the books in the library tower at Winterfell. She had begun roaming the numerous shelves of books, climbing up and down ladders and stairs, seeking out much older manuscripts and accounts of the Stark history. There were some fairly dark stories in Winterfell's past. Disagreements between kin that led to battles that led to new houses and old grudges. Promises and oaths of loyalty and fealty and the punishment that followed when broken. There were also stories of magic. Stories involving the first men of the north and the Children of the Forrest, of greenseers and even dragons. An undying respect for the old gods was predominant throughout and animosity between the wildings that seemed to know no real beginning. She had immersed herself so much that it began to affect her dreams. She would see images of blood on the snow, of children who hid in amongst hearttrees. She even dreamed of a dragon rising above Winterfell as it burned. A great flood of fire that raged against an oncoming wall of ice.

Disturbing dreams. But only dreams and not surprising considering where her head has been lately.

She thought of him often and wondered if his mind ever turned to her. More than likely not. He would be far too preoccupied now. Especially since the latest royal announcement.

Especially since the princess was carrying his child.

Lyanna did not cry this time. She would not. It was not her place. She did not deserve to feel even the tiniest bit of sorrow at this news. She would make herself numb to any news of the royal family. The ever growing royal family. Her fingers ran lightly over the blue rose that was pressed between the pages once more.

She was tired of her fate being dictated by others. She had grown weary of her heart being torn into pieces to be passed around to whom others deemed as the worthy candidate. She was a woman now. She was a Stark of Winterfell. A daughter of the greatest of Northern houses. It was her right to have some sort of say in what happened to her, to her heart, to her body. She did not wish to marry. At least not at this time. And when the time did arrive then it would be because she deemed it time, it would be because she deemed the suitor worthy. And so she had resolved to speak on this matter with her father. She thought that perhaps it could be as simple as explaining her feelings to her father. She had thought he would see. She had thought he would understand.

Of course, things did not work out as Lyanna had hoped.

" _No Lyanna. It is done."_

" _But father –"_

" _No Lyanna. I said it is done."_

" _But you won't even hear me," Lyanna protested._

" _What is there to hear that I don't already know?" her father asked. "Robert has bedded other women, it is said he has a child, you fear he won't change …"_

" _I don't_ fear _he won't change," Lyanna interrupted, "I_ know _he won't change! Why would you want to send me somewhere I'll be miserable? Send me to someone I don't love?"_

" _Please child," her father said with a dismissive wave of his hand, "you won't be miserable and love is neither here nor there. No one enters these things in love, it comes with time. Leaving the familiar for the unknown is –"_

" _I am not afraid to go," she shouted exasperated, "I don't want to go! Don't you even care?"_

_Her father brought his fingers to his temples and began to move them in a circular pattern as he rested his elbows on his desk._

" _Lyanna, you are not yourself. A … change is upon you. You're –"_

" _A change? You mean my bleed father. My blood, moon's blood, or flowering if your so –"_

" _That is enough Lyanna!" Lord Rickon exclaimed, slamming his hands down on the desk as he stood up angrily._

" _I suppose it's not surprising that I can't talk about my body since I can't even be the one to decide what happens to it."_

" _Stubborn, willful, ungrateful child," her father roared as he stormed furiously around the desk towards her._

_Lyanna willed her feet to stay and lifted her chin defiantly._

" _If I am stubborn or willful then it's your fault," she shouted. "It's your fault for teaching me to hunt and to ride, for giving me a sword. For allowing me to think for myself and make my own choices!"_

_Her father had moved swiftly as he came around his desk, fluttering papers as he moved. But as Lyanna spoke, his steps slowed till he came to a halt before her. His face, that had been filled with fury at first softened as he looked down at her._

" _You're right, it is my fault," he said with a resigned sigh. "I did teach you those things. I have only ever wanted what was best for you. I want you to be able to think and care for yourself. Which is why I know this is right for you. Your will won't be broken at Storm's End, it will thrive. You will come into your own there in a way you never could here. You will rule that house and those lands and show that boy what it is to be a true and honorable man." He held her face in his hands as he looked down at her, his tone gentle. "You are right. I did not raise you to be weak. You have too much of your mother in you for that. You have always been strong and that strength will serve you well. Which is why I know this is what is best for you, what is right. You don't believe me now, but one day you will understand. It may not be till you have your own children, but you will understand."_

_Lyanna had wanted to continue to fight, to continue to demand her freedom. But she heard the stern but gentle tone of her father's voice and knew it would be useless. She up in his eyes and saw the love and pride and sadness there and knew it was over. His mind was made and would not change._

" _Forgive me father," she whispered as he pulled her into a warm embrace._

" _You'll be the death of me," he chuckled softly._

She had been prepared for some resistance of course. It would have been foolish of her not to. But it had never even occurred to Lyanna that she would lose.

The sound of footsteps pulled her from her thoughts and she snapped the book on her lap shut.

"I thought I might find you here …"

Lyanna looked up and was not surprised to see Brandon looking down at her where she sat. He stared at her for a moment in silence before settling himself down next to her.

"Sulking about it isn't going to change anything you know. Father's not going to change his mind."

"Thank you Bran," she said with a sideways glance, "I would have never figured that out if not for you."

"Don't get pissy with me. It just so happens that I agree with you."

Lyanna gave him a flat look. "Do you."

"Yeah, I do. I don't want to marry. Especially some soft southron girl. The ceremony is going to be in a sept with vows according to the bloody seven. Hells, she'll probably make me build her a sept once she's here."

"Then why …"

"Because it's expected," he answered with a shrug. "It's what is done. And it's my duty."

"It's not fair."

"Nah, it's not. But then life isn't really fair, or at least so I've been told," he said with a droll little smile.

Lyanna scowled at her brother and shook her head. "Why are you here Bran?"

"Why, because you're my dear, sweet, baby sister and I love you of course," he exclaimed with mock indignation. Lyanna rolled her eyes as her mouth became a thin line in an attempt to suppress a smile.

"I'm not a baby," she muttered.

"Oh yeah you are, and a rather loud one at the moment. Don't give me that look, you know I'm right. Did you know that father has put off any talk of your betrothal for years? He refused anyone to broach the topic with him. I can't even count how many times he turned Robert away before he finally saw him and even then it was because maester Walys and Lord Arryn convinced him."

Lyanna's eyes narrowed at the mention of maester Walys.

"Even if they hadn't convinced him, he would have relented eventually," Brandon continued. "You and I, we have a lot riding on us. I am the eldest, you the only daughter. We are the ties that alliances are made with. You will be Lady to well over two dozen housed after you are wed to Robert. Your sons will lords with thousands of bannermen at their call."

"Somehow I don't think that my sons will be the only sons Robert will have," Lyanna said bitterly.

Brandon barked out a laugh. "Fair enough, still it could be worse. Would you rather be shipped off to the Umbers or the Boltons? Or maybe Bear island? Ah!"

Brandon yelped as Lyanna hit him hard on the arm, causing him to jump.

"I'll take that as a no," he cried, rubbing his arm.

Lyanna sat back against the tree and folded her arms across her chest. She leaned her head back and looked up at the canopy of red leaves above them.

"And so I am nothing more than a pawn. Expected to go where I are told."

"No," Brandon said so emphatically that Lyanna turned to see him staring at her, his voice firm and his visage serious. "You are Lyanna Stark of Winterfell, the She-Wolf. Daughter of the Warden of the North and descendent of the first men. Wolf's blood runs through your veins and I expect you to show those prissy little southron lords just that."

Lyanna felt nothing but pride as she looked at her brother. There was a loyalty between all of them that she thought nothing could break. She loved them all fiercely and would die defending them and they her.

Lyanna slipped her arm through his and laid her head against his shoulder.

"He won't ever change," she said softly, "I know he won't."

"Probably not," Brandon agreed with a wry smile, "but I have confidence that he will pay accordingly. Come," he said with a quick squeeze of her hand, "there's something I want you to see that I know will cheer you up. What's this?" As he spoke he had placed her cloak over his arm causing her book to fall to the ground. He picked it up and looked curiously at the cover. "The Tales of Bael the Bard. Where did you get this?"

"From the library, where do you think? My cloak please," she said as she snatched the book from his hands and turned so he could set her cloak about her shoulders. She glanced down quickly while her back was turned to make sure the blue rose was still secure in its place before adjusting her cloak.

"That's a bit of odd reading," Brandon observed.

"Well maester Walys did want me to focus more the history of Winterfell. Did you know that there may be dragon eggs in the crypt?"

"Oh? And just where did you get this bit of information?" he asked amused.

"Something about Mushroom's Stories or The Documents of Mushroom or something like that."

"Huh, sounds reliable."

"You would be surprised at how much truth can be found in unlikely places," she sniffed.

"Oh really," Brandon laughed, "by all means, please tell me of some unlikely places where the truth abides."

"I don't know why I would even bother," Lyanna retorted with a roll of her eyes. "Your mind is far too feeble to grasp the concepts."

"Hey now," Brandon warned with a grin, "I said put the  _southron_  lords in their place. Let's not get a head of ourselves shall we?"

"You asked."

"So I did."

They came around to a side court yard of the main keep where the rookery sat. The cawing of ravens and the occasional call of a hawk carried outside from the widows. Lyanna gave Brandon a questioning look. He grinned back at her.

"Come on, you'll see."

They walked in to the sound of wings and the smell of bird shit. Most of the ravens sat in their cages. They had to be kept separate from the hawks who would try to make a meal of them, or sometimes the other way around. The ravens could be quite large and very clever, many would hold their own. But they were valuable and so kept safe.

Lyanna looked at Brandon once more, this time with slightly more annoyance than curiosity. Brandon just folded his arms across his chest with a little smirk and nodded his head towards the back wall. Lyanna turned to see Benjen crouched down in a corner, bow and arrow in his hand, his eyes locked on the dark rafters above. What the hells was he doing?

"Ben?"

"Shhh!" he hissed back at her, his gaze never leaving the rafters. Lyanna looked back at Brandon.

"Has he gone daft?" she asked incredulously.

Brandons smirk spread into a sideways grin.

"No more than usual," he said. "While you've been moping around in your chambers, he's been coming down here for the past fortnight trying to shoot that raven that won't come down from the rafters."

"A raven? Are you talking about that raven that was hiding in the rafters when we first came home?"

"The same," Brandon confirmed with a chuckle. "If I didn't know better I would say it is playing with our baby brother."

Lyanna squinted up into the rafters in an attempt to see her Benjen's target but could make out nothing in the shadows.

"I can't even see anything. Are you sure it's even up there?"

"Oh it's up there," Brandon said looking at the rafters as well, "it's a clever thing."

"Will you both shut it!" Ben snapped. "It'll never come down with all your squawking."

Lyanna looked at Brandon who looked at her from the corner of his eye with an ever present grin. But when he looked back up the grin faltered as his eyes became wide.

"Look there," he whispered pointing, "there! There it is! Oh he's a beast."

Lyanna looked back up to see the great black bird staring down at them with dark inky eyes. It had flown down to one of the lower rafters above them and was studying them intently. It was much larger than any of the other raven in the rookery, and its beak looked to be an odd color of dark red to Lyanna. Or perhaps it was just the way the lights and the shadow played upon it, it was hard to tell from this distance. It stared down at them, wings slightly spread as it moved from foot to foot, almost as if pacing. A low deep grumble of a caw seemed to emanate from it as moved back and forth on the rafter. It seemed to Lyanna as if its eyes locked on hers while the low guttural sounds took the shape of words.

" _Jenny_ ," it cawed with a rasp, " _Jenny of Oldstones …_ "

Suddenly there was a great flapping of wings and the twang of a bow string as the raven took flight and an arrow struck the empty space where it had previously sat. It circled the rafters above as Ben nocked another arrow and took aim only to miss once more as it flew out the upper window.

"Ah you missed!" shouted Brandon. "Come on! Outside! Outside!" he called running out the door with Ben shouting behind him.

"Well if you would get out of the bloody way!"

As they ran outside in their haste and excitement, neither one seemed to notice that Lyanna had forgotten to breathe.

That night after they had supped she returned to her chambers. Her brothers had searched the skies the rest of that day and into the night searching for the raven but all of their attempts were in vein. They would not catch another sight of the great black raven although Brandon would tease Benjen for missing, surprised that he missed such a large target. But Lyanna was not surprised. Nor was she surprised when she heard the flapping of wings at her chamber window that night, a great black raven roosted there waiting. She walked over and took the message that was tied to its leg and unrolled it.

" _If ever you should have need …"_  it said.

It was signed with a dragon coiled around a laughing tree.


	9. Chapter 9

He stood upon the great stone balcony and looked out onto the sea. The moon did not shine tonight, making the oncoming waves that crashed against the rocks below. The constant breeze from the ocean felt damp and cool against his skin and the air was heavy with the scent of salt water. It was almost impossible to tell where sea met sky, creating an inky black veil of endless darkness around him, constantly moving, never at rest. Relentless.

Much like his dreams.

A light tug at the bottom of his breeches caused him to glance down to see a small dark shadow swatting at his feet.

Rhaegar looked back out, his eyes going to the sky. The absence of the moon caused the stars to show themselves like beacons in the night, the darkness unable dim their light. On a night such as this he could easily locate the constellations, even without of the use of his Myrish-eye. The Moonmaid shown overhead while the Ghost and the King's Crown were off to the west. But there is one group of stars that always commanded his attention, one set that pulled at his being. He looked to the south where he quickly found the tail and followed the line of stars till his gaze finally rested upon a great blue star. The eye of the Ice Dragon, showing the way north.

He felt the familiar dull ache in his chest that always came whenever his mind drifted north. Whenever his thoughts turned to her. And his thoughts always turned to her, to the point of distraction. The guilt gnawed at him mercilessly.

Rhaegar winced as sharp little teeth nipped at his toe. He reached down and scooped up the small ball of black fur that had been attacking his feet.

"You should be with your mother," he chided softly.

Large yellow eyes blinked lazily at him in the dark.

He leaned against the balcony and held the kitten in the crook of his arm, scratching it under the chin absently as he now stared into the dimly lit chambers. Somewhere, in the mound of shadows on the bed lay Elia with Rhaenys curled up beside her. Elia's pregnancy progressed steadily but not without a toll. Her health was becoming increasingly fragile as she progressed. At this rate she would more than likely be bedridden for the remainder of her pregnancy, or so the midwives said, and even the maester's agreed. So Rhaegar had made it a point to see to all of her needs personally. He had spent every night in her chambers, in case she should wake.

Elia had pleaded with him to return to his own chambers of course. She knew that he did not sleep well in hers as their daughter took up most of the space in the bed for herself. But Rhaegar would not have it.

It was the least he could do.

And despite her protests, Rhaegar knew that it pleased her when he did such things. And her happiness was paramount, especially now. Especially since she was carrying his son.

And he had no doubt that the child she carried was a boy. The omens were too strong, his dreams too dark, too vivid.

He dreamed of a young man who stood before the coming storm unafraid and untouched by the ice that consumed all in its path. It seemed as if he could take on another shape and he held in his hand a sword that looked to be made of flames one moment and blood the other. A great three eyed raven perched upon his shoulder and a bleeding red star was his crown. The boy seemed to constantly be beset upon the Enemy, smoke rising from his wounds as he fell, only to stand once more, ghosts walking in his wake as the shadow of a three headed dragon breathed fire all around.

His son, The Prince that was Promised. It was his son, and Rhaegar feared for him.

Sometimes Rhaegar dreamed he could see shapes hidden in white mists that stalked his son as he moved. Their eyes shown like emeralds, pale, cold, and fierce. And his son stood alone against them, a broken sword in his hand.

Other times Rhaegar would dream that his son stood with a great army behind him, strengthened by those closest to him as he walked in the shadow of the three headed dragon once more.

_Yes_ , thought Rhaegar,  _the dragon must have three heads_.

But then, it was not just of his son that he would dream.

He would find himself walking in the woods where all of the trees stared out at him with countless bloody tear streaked eyes, their angry mouths twisted into a grimace. They were hidden in the shadows, just out of his eyesight. But he knew they were there. He could feel them staring out from the dark, judging him.

The snow fell heavy on the ground, covering his tracks as he walked. And the air was so cold, it felt like thousands of tiny needles in his chest when he would take a breath. He continued to push his way through the white that whirled around him, till he came to a wall covered with winter roses. Hundreds of blue blooms opened to him as he approached, and the snow took the form of a great white wolf that howled into the wind.

And then he would wake, gasping and shivering from the cold he could still feel upon his skin.

One of these dreams was prophetic, of that he was certain.

Rhaegar could argue that perhaps his dreams of her were not so prosaic in their purpose. He had done some reading on the history of House Stark. Previously his own knowledge did not go past what he knew of the Hour of the Wolf and the Pact of Ice and Fire. It was one of the oldest houses in Westeros, with roots tracing all the back to the Age of Heroes and the First Men. Perhaps even as far back as the Dawn of Days. It is claimed their line is ancient.

It is said their blood is magic.

The maesters scoffed at this of course. The only recorded histories of that time were from septons who took their accounts thousands of years after. A maester would never lend credence to such a thing.

Rhaegar would not discredit the stories so readily. While the maesters were knowledgeable in many things, he had always been disappointed in their eagerness to write away any and all histories regarding prophecy and divination. It has been his experience that things can be learned from even the most banal of sources. He often wondered what he would find wandering the halls of the Citadel, rifling through the ancient texts that the maesters deemed of no importance. The few books he had collected over the years are nothing compared to how much knowledge was hidden within those venerable walls.

Perhaps there was something he missed within those tales and myths..

Could there have been some purpose other than his own vain desire that caused their paths to cross? It was a song of ice and fire after all.

Or perhaps it was nothing more than shameful lust. Something as simple as selfish longing. It seemed the more likely cause. She monopolized his thoughts to the point of torment. He would hear her name upon the wind. The memory of her eyes haunted him every time he looked out to the sea. It was only logical that his obsession would infect his dreams.

He had even been so foolish as to send a raven in the hopes of hearing some word from her. It had to have reached her by now. It was his own personal raven, he had trained it himself and was one of the few beasts with the skill to carry messages to multiple locations and could even seek out specific persons. This particular raven was the one he often sent to the North in search of his great-uncle who had taken the Black. It knew the North well.

It also knew Winterfell.

But he had heard nothing. He had sent it several fortnights ago and still he heard nothing. And why should he? She had said herself that he sought the impossible. He was married and she was promised. It was not for her to be some prince's concubine. She was too proud and to ask such a thing would be reprehensible and an insult to her. She would be a great Lady of the Stormlands. And to some extent it suited her, Lady Lyanna of Storm's End.

No, that was not right.

Lady Lyanna  _Baratheon_  of Storm's End.

His chest suddenly felt hollow and empty, followed by a familiar burn as his jaw clenched with jealousy.

He found himself turning into a petulant child whenever his mind turned to it. And although it shamed him, he would withdraw into bitter melancholy moods that had him seeking solitude in the Windwyrm or wondering the garden in the night while the castle slept.

Or while most of them slept anyway.

Arthur always seemed to know when Rhaegar was restless, and would often sit with him in those moments. Always Arthur looked at him as if waiting for him to speak though Rhaegar rarely did. It did not seem to deter Arthur though. Infuriatingly patient his friend was.

But Rhaegar said nothing. Nor would he. There was nothing to be said. Her lack of any response was answer enough for him. And what did he think he would do if she did? This was a child's game and he was not a child. For him to seek to steal away a woman who was promised to another man, another Lord, was not something he would do.

It was something his father would do.

And that was something Rhaegar could not abide.

No, Elia was his concern now. The child in her womb was his obsession. Their well-being was all that mattered now. Her health and the health of their unborn child crucial. The fate of so many depended on this. Even without the prophecy, his dreams alone had shown him as much.

There was no other future. There was no place for his desires there. He needed to focus on his son and the task that was to be laid out before him.

Rhaegar pushed himself away from the balcony and walked back towards the bedchambers. Upon crossing the threshold he bent down and set a loudly purring Balerion down upon the ground and scooted him along.  _Balerion_ , he thought with a smile,  _the scourge of Dragonstone_.

Rhaegar looked down upon the sleeping figures in the bed. Yes, this is where he should be. Elia grew heavier every day. Soon his son would come into the world and, if his interpretation was right, the world would have great need of him.

He walked to the chaise that Elia would sometime lay in so she could see the sun and the sky as she rested and set himself down. He smiled as he thought of her reaction to seeing him sleeping here again. She would most certainly put up a fuss no doubt. He wondered if perhaps he should see to having a craftsman make a larger bed. Wouldn't that be quite the scandal.

He had just settled himself comfortably in, when the sound of flapping wings caused him to start. He sat up and looked out at the large balcony but saw nothing but darkness. He held as still as death as he listened for the sound once more. The sound he heard was not the flapping of wings, but low and guttural. A slow gravelly caw that came from the black night.

" _Jenny,"_ it rasped.

Rhaegar rose from the chair and walked slowly to the balcony where he held his arm out into the night. The sound of wings came once more from the dark as the large raven landed on his outstretched arm, a piece of parchment tied to its leg.

* * *

**~oOo~**

Arthur walked brusquely down through the great hall and towards the tower that housed the princess's chambers, servants ducked quickly out of his path as he made his way, his face grim.

The princess had been laboring for three nights now. The entire castle was on edge. The prince had not left her side, not even to eat.

It was said that the princess would not survive another night. It was said the child would be stillborn.

Arthur began to make his way up the winding black stone steps. The sun shone bright in the sky, creating beams of light through the long narrow windows along the stair well. Dragons were carved into the walls, snaking along the stairs with Arthur as he climbed. They became more noticeable the higher he went as the windows were wider than below. That was something that had come after the Royal family moved into the Dragonstone. The princess preferred the royal chambers brightly lit and airy, filled with sunlight. And so the windows were widened. No small feat, but his grace was not one to deny her. And Arthur had to admit it was a far more pleasing atmosphere compared to some of the rooms below. Sheer silk tapestries fluttered lightly in the ocean breeze, brushing against Arthur's cloak. Even the air seemed lighter up here.

Arthur came to the top of the stairs and made his way down the hall. He slowed as he rounded the corner and came into wide entry room of the princess's chambers. There he saw Oswell standing before the door, silent and still against the frantic sounds coming from the other side of the door. His fellow brother looked over at him as he approached.

"Any change?" Arthur asked coming to a stop before him.

"No."

"His grace …"

"Has not come out."

Arthur looked at the chamber door with a grim sigh. "Nor will he I suppose."

He and Oswell were the only kingsguard that were permitted to come up here. They had been taking turns in their duties over the course of the princess's ongoing labor.

"Emissaries from the Red Keep have arrived?" Oswell asked.

"Not yet. But they will."

"Ah how I do love watching their webs catch the light as they weave," smirked Oswell.

"Take care not to become entangled," warned Arthur.

"What could I have that would cause interest in me?" Oswell smirked.

"Him," Arthur replied looking at the door. "You have him. His trust, his ear, his confidence. Never forget that, for the spiders have not."

Oswell's mouth pressed into a thin line as Arthur spoke, understanding the truth in his words. The prince was a solitary fellow, even when he was not lost in his thoughts or moods. And while His Grace was not one to turn away the council when they came to him with concerns about the realm, he did not seek them out either. It was not an easy thing, gaining the prince's confidence, though many would try.

And since Harrenhall, many had tried.

Arthur did not know if Rhaegar still obsessed over lady Stark. Many moons had passed since that fateful day and while he had never made any mention of her to Arthur, he knew something still plagued him. Rhaegar said he is in love with the girl then he is, and for a brief moment, he followed his heart.

But the prince will also always do what his duty demands, no matter what the cost. And right now, his duty was here.

And Arthur was the only one who could see it was tearing his friend apart.

Arthur had known the prince since they were both young boys, barely touching manhood. He had been sent from Starfall to squire for a knight under Ser Willem at the Red Keep, and the prince, well the prince had just felt the need to train with a sword one day. The prince had insisted on training and living with the rest of the squires, wishing to remain in the White Sword Tower and sleeping on the floor, but that could not be tolerated. His father insisted he remain in his own quarters, fearing for his heir's safety. But whenever the prince could defy his father on this he would, and often Arthur would wake to find his grace had returned in the night

Still he was always the first to the practice yard and the last to leave. Often it was Ser Willem or Ser Gerold who would train with the prince as many of the other knights were hesitant to strike their lord. But the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard and the master-at-arms had no such reservations. If his grace wished to train then train him they would. And they did. Thoroughly.

Arthur had come to respect the prince's resolve on this. No matter how many times he had been taken down, he would simply rise and start again, that famous singular focus of his coming into play. In time he had become quite the proficient, and Arthur felt no small amount of pride at being one of the very few who could best him. And the prince appreciated Arthur's willingness not to hand him an easy victory. Arthur would take advantage of an opponent's weakness and the prince was one to learn from that. Often Arthur would find that his grace would not make the same mistake twice. They challenged each other. It brought out their strengths. It also allowed them to show their weakness.

During the time when the prince would stay in the tower with the rest of the squires, Arthur would often find himself sitting up with his grace talking into the night. It was Arthur who spoke first. Answering questions about his family and childhood. Of Starfall and the sword of the morning. He spoke to the prince of both his desire and fear of carrying the title. Of being deserving of such an honor and his shame in coveting it so. He could not help but think his fear made him less worthy.

The prince though, had disagreed.

" _But that fear is what makes you worthy_ ," he said. " _Nothing of value can come without a sense of fear. Whether it was a fear of failure or a fear of loss mattered little. If you did not fear losing a thing then what was it worth? If you did not fear failing at a thing, then why try?_ "

Arthur had simply laughed and asked what could a prince fear failing at, and then immediately regretted the statement for the prince took on a sorrowful faraway look that caused a sudden hollow feeling in Arthur's chest.

He said nothing though, only giving Arthur a sad little smile.

It would be another fortnight before Arthur would work up the nerve to ask the prince about his fears and then another fortnight after that before the prince would answer.

Arthur liked to believe that they had become brothers on that field together. He took great pride in having earned the prince's trust, for that was perhaps the greatest honor any knight of the realm could hope to earn.

But he took greater pride in calling Rhaegar his friend. And right now his friend was in pain, and Arthur could feel it as surely as it was his own.

"Do you hear that?" Oswell hissed softly under his breath, pulling Arthur from his thoughts.

Arthur stood still as stone and realized he heard nothing.

The two men looked at the door and waited. Before long the soft mewling cries of a baby could be heard as the door opened slowly and the midwife stepped out.

"It's a boy," she said softly.

Any feeling of joy or relief was quickly suppressed though for the midwife stood pale and silent as Arthur took notice that her shift was covered in blood.

"The princess …" he hesitated. The midwife looked at him with sad wet eyes.

"Call the septon," she said, her voice quivering, "and tell them to pray that the gods will see fit that she will last the night."

* * *

**~oOo~**

Arthur made his way up the stairwell through the stone drum to the top floor where the painted table lay. He muttered a silent curse against the builders for making so many damn towers with stair to climb and then said a silent prayer to the seven, thanking them for making this worst thing for him to have to deal with at the moment.

The princess had made it through the night, barely, but she made it. While the babe had been born healthy and strong, the labor had been hard on an already weakened body. The loss of blood had been substantial and the maesters and midwives had managed to work together without conflict throughout the night as the entire castle prayed. And though the gods seemed to have heard their prayers, their mercy did not come without cost, for while she could get with child again, it was certain she would not live through another labor.

The prince had stayed by her side throughout, only left her chambers to change or see to their daughter. Otherwise he remained with the princess, playing songs on his harp to entertain her and soothe their son. It has been several weeks now, since the labor, and the princess's strength has slowly returned. And now the prince has called for he and Oswell to meet with him.

Arthur did not give too much thought as to the reason the prince called them. More than likely he wished for them to begin the preparations to take the young prince to be presented before the court at the Red Keep. And although Arthur had not had any opportunity to talk with Rhaegar, it seemed to him that the prince had found some purpose in his step again, especially now that it had been determined that the princess would be alright.

But there was also an intensity in that step that gave Arthur pause.

He came to the great doors of the chamber to find Oswell waiting before them. Arthur looked at him curiously.

"What are you waiting here for?"

"You," Oswell replied.

"Whatever for."

"Because I didn't want to face the news that we are going to Summerhall alone," he said flatly.

Arthur shook his head and pushed open the doors to see Rhaegar standing at the far end of the painted table, the northern end, staring intently. Arthur looked at Oswell.

"I do not think that will be the case."

Arthur turned and closed the doors behind them and fell behind Oswell as they began the long walk along the table to where Rhaegar stood. The prince seemingly took no notice of them at first. He just continued to look at the table, his gaze locked on an area of the table that was painted with white and greys. Arthur did not need to see the castle that was painted there to know what he looked at.

They came to a stop at the end of the table and waited.

"Did you know that there was once an alliance between Houses Stark and Targaryen," he said when he finally spoke. "A promise between them that a Targaryan princess would marry into the Stark family. A pact of ice and fire, it was called."

Neither man said anything. Sometimes it was hard to tell whether the prince was talking to you or himself. Rhaegar slowly came around the table and began to set three chairs out before them.

"Elia is well, her strength returned," he said as he waived Arthur off from helping him with the ornate chairs. "She has given me a strong son and an heir but," he pulled another chair around and set it down, "while our second child almost killed her, a third most certainly would." He set the third chair down with a loud thud that reverberated off the wall and through the room. "And the dragon must have three heads," he said, so soft that Arthur almost wondered if he spoke at all as he watched Rhaegar move around the chair and set himself down.

"I must ask something of the both of you. Something that you may not approve of." For the first time since they had entered the room he looked at them, his eyes hard and filled with unspoken purpose. "Which is why, what I am going to ask of you now I am not asking as your prince, but as your friend. So that you may walk away free of any guilt. But know that I am resolved to do this, whether you are with me or not." His gaze softened then and the corners of his mouth crept up into a small sheepish smile. "Although, I prefer that you are with me."

Arthur looked over to Oswell who looked back at him. After the briefest of moments, they both removed the white cloak from around their shoulders followed by the chest plates engraved with the seven sword sigil of the kingsguard, laying them carefully onto the table, and took a seat across from their friend.


	10. chapter 10

 

The sun had begun its slow descent on the horizon. The sky had become painted in an array of pink and yellow and orange, bathing the surrounding landscape in a rosy golden glow. It was a beautiful sunset

Arthur looked to the figure silhouetted by the sun, standing at the top of the hill, still as stone. This spot had been chosen due to its unobstructed view of the valley below. The godswood spread out as far as the eye could see around the godseye, but from here, one had a clear view of the valley below; where the wood thinned to an open plain in areas and the rolling hills that led to the mountains of the Riverlands came into view. The great towers of Harrenhall loomed a handful of leagues behind them but that was of little consequence since that was not the direction they were interested in anyway. Yes, Arthur had to admit that from where they stood no one could approach without being seen. At least, not from the west, not from the River road.  Oswell chose well.

A low rumble and a snort pulled Arthur’s attention to the sleeping figure behind him. Oswell shifted slightly where he lay, adjusting himself under the cloak that was wrapped around him. Once settled, his breathing evened out and the low steady rumble started once more. The man could sleep anywhere.

They had arrived at Harrenhall a fortnight ago. And for a majority of that time the party had been quite busy. They had told Lord Walter that they had come to hunt, an opportunity for the prince to unwind after the stressful birth of his son. The lie left a bitter taste in Arthur’s mouth.

He had listened patiently to his friend that fateful day. The he had sat at that massive table listening to the story that had unfolded. Rhaegar told them how he had sent a raven to the north and had received a response. He told them how the correspondence continued, leading him now to this point. He was resolved, that much Arthur could see. Rhaegar had every intention of continuing on, with or without them. And Arthur could not let him go alone of course, but that did not lessen the conflict within himself any less.

“And the princess?” Arthur had asked. “What of Elia.”

Rhaegar looked at him but Arthur did not back down. Oswell’s eyes flicked from Arthur to Rhaegar.

“Is she to be set aside?” he continued. “The question must be asked Rhaegar.”

Rhaegar’s gaze turned downward toward the figurine he tapped idly with fingers and gave a little nod. “Yes,” he almost whispered, “honor would demand it.” He looked back across the table at them. “No, Elia is not to be set aside. Nor my children. Aegon is the Prince Who Was Promised, the one who will lead us through the long night. His is a song of ice and fire. And while he is fire and blood, we must have ice as well. The dragon must have three heads.” As the prince spoke, his gaze had turned increasingly inward and his voice so distant that Arthur was not certain that the last part was even meant for their ears. Oswell’s eyes flicked once more between Arthur and Rhaegar before he sat back in his seat with a sigh.

“Oh well, that makes perfect sense,” he said as he laced his finger behind his head, “I’m sure that will go over well in Dorne. Oh, don’t give me that look Arthur. You are thinking the same thing. This is no small matter. We are stealing, or kidnapping depending on how this is spun, a northern lord’s daughter. And for what? To fulfill a prophecy that most of the population, including myself doesn’t even know? You mean to tell me her people are going to just accept this? The north may be a lot of things, but gullable is not one of them.”

Arthur had given Oswell a withering look but did not protest. He was right. About all of it. Rhaegar for his part hat sat quietly as Oswell spoke. He had picked up the small figurine from the table and now spun it absently around in his hand, a small smile played at the corners of his mouth.

“I had stated earlier,” he began, “that a promise was made during the time of Aegon III and House Stark, called the Pact of Ice and Fire. Jacaerys Velaryon had gone to the north to gain their support during the Dance of Dragons. In return, a Targaryen princess was promised to marry into the family of House Stark. It is a promise that, as of yet, has not been fulfilled. I seek to remedy that situation.”

“I feel it is safe to assume that the princess Rhaenys has nothing to do with this remedy,” Oswell commented dryly. Arthur cast him a withering look, but if Rhaeger was bothered he did not show it. He simply smiled and shook his head.

“You would be correct in that assumption,” Rhaegar replied. “No, it will not be Rhaenys. It will be me. I intend to take Lyanna as my lawful wife, alongside Elia.”

The looks on both men’s faces must have been a sight for Rhaegar actually laughed. It sounded high pitched and giddy. Oswell gave Arthur a wary look. Rhaegar’s laughter began to soften as he pinched the space between his eyes with his fingers.

“Calm yourselves, I haven’t gone mad, not yet,” he chuckled. His hand dropped back down onto his lap. “I have spoken with Elia and made her aware of my intentions. She is ...,” Rhaegar paused for the briefest of moments, a look of sadness flashed in his eyes and was gone so quickly one would question it was ever there at all, “well … she knows. Elia is the future queen of the seven kingdoms and Aegon the heir to the Iron throne. That has not changed nor will it.” Rhaegar stood up suddenly, still clutching the figure in his hand. “But I have no intention of dishonoring Lyanna as some mistress hidden in the shadows. I mean to marry her and our children shall be legitimate.”

Oswell drummed his fingers on the table. “And the Stark girl –”

“Lyanna,” Rhaegar interrupted, his voice stern. “The Lady Lyanna.”

Oswell inclined his head respectfully, understanding the tone. “And lady Lyanna feels the same, even though she is promised to another and her actions will no doubt set her House in turmoil?”

“She does not wish to hurt her family or her betrothed. Once she is with me, she plans on sending ravens explaining her decision. Once her family realizes that we are wed and she is recognized by the crown, they will accept it. Especially since certain amenities will be made for the North with this union. House Baratheon will be compensated as well.”

Oswell shook his head. “If this goes south, there will hell to pay.”

“Then I will pay it and it will be worth the price.” Rhaegar set the figurine down on the table and took in their faces. His gaze was unflinching and sincere, while his voice was tinged slightly with what Arthur could only discern as desperation. “I am aware of the risks. I know what is at stake. I love Lyanna. I know this, more than I have ever known anything in my life. We are resolved to be together. What I am asking of you, it is no small matter. I understand the weight of the burden I am laying upon your shoulders. It is not fair of me to compromise you with even the knowledge of this. Perhaps I am selfishly seeking your blessing, I cannot say. But if you choose to turn away, I understand and will love you none the less.”

Oswell tapped his fingers on the table and looked at Arthur but Arthur did not look back. His attention was on the figurine that Rhaegar had set down on the table.

“Well,” Oswell barked while simultaneously slapping his hand down on the table, abruptly breaking the silence, “right then. I suppose we should keep it to a small group. Discretion is key yes? I believe it is safe to say Lewyn’s out. In fact, we should keep any other member of the kingsguard out. And Connington too. I don’t care if you like him. He’s a fucking nance and will get in the way. Especially if we are to go north. Are we to go to the North? Because if so, this just became significantly more difficult.”

Arthur sat quietly and listened as Rhaegar laid out his plan. They would not go north, for the lady would already be traveling south to Riverrun in preparation for her brother’s wedding to lord Tully’s daughter. She planned on taking a sojourn towards Harrenhall in an effort to see the Godseye and Isle of Faces. It is there they will meet and then head south, perhaps towards Summerhall although Rhaegar was not certain. Arthur sat silent and still as details were worked out and decisions made. He sat and stared at the figure at the end of the table, near where Rhaegar now stood, separated from the other figures like it.

A lone wolf.

They had sat in that room for some time after Oswell had left, gone to find a maester to get a raven off to his brother at Harenhall. They sat in that great room with nothing but the soft crack of the fire to break the silence between them until Rhaegar spoke.

“I will do whatever it takes to be with her Arthur. I will give up everything to have her. You do not approve?”

“I never said that.

“You never said anything.”

“Mmm,” Arthur smiled and looked down at his hands. “I was just thinking I suppose.”

“Oh? Of what.”

“My sword.” Rhaegar’s eyes flicked over to where Dawn lay, its milk white blade still sheathed. “It is the legacy of my house, been there for thousands of years. Only those a knight deemed worthy may wield it, but then you know all that. Do you remember when it was given to me?” Arthur looked at Rhaegar, his mouth curving into a little sideways smile. “Do you remember when I was bestowed with the honor to carry it? How it did not feel that way to me. It had felt to me as if a great burden had been laid upon my shoulders. An honor that I was not, nor ever could be, truly deserving of. I believe I had told you as much yes?”

Rhaegar gave a little smile of his own at the memory. “You did,” he nodded.

“Do you remember what you told me?”

“I do.”

“You said,” Arthur continued, “that it was because I did not want it that made me worthy. That I did not do things for favor or glory, or some vain desire to seem noble. That I could do what was necessary because it was right, even though I would gain nothing. That I understood the cost of honor and the sacrifice required.”

Rhaegar’s brow furrowed slightly. “I said all that?”

“Something like it,” Arthur chuckled. He looked at Rhaegar, any hint of a smile now gone. “This thing you want … plan to do, this thing you want us to assist you with. This is no small task. Oswell was right when he said there will be hell to pay.”

“Arthur I –”

“You are my brother. I have been and always will be, with you. Besides, is there any cause nobler than love?”

“And now it is I who is not worthy.”

Another loud snort pulled Arthur from his thoughts and he looked over to see Oswell readjusting position once more before his breathing returned to a low steady rumble. Arthur shook his head.

He turned back to see Rhaegar still staring into the setting sun. She should have been here by now. Myles and Richard had been sent ahead to set up a small camp in a predesignated location, but at this rate when she finally arrives it will be well after dark when they get there.

If she arrives.

Arthur grimaced slightly. He should not think such things. He did not wish for any hurt to come to his friend. And Rhaegar would be hurt by this, deeply. And yet, Arthur could not help but think that perhaps it would be the best outcome.

He sighed softly and took a seat on the stump that Oswell snored against. He was not going anywhere until his friend did and Arthur knew that Rhaegar was not going anywhere.

 

* * *

 

 

Lyanna’s hands were damp with sweat from beneath her gloves as she gripped the reigns. Her mount fought her for control. He wanted to run again. Small rivulets of sweat ran down the stallion’s neck and his breath came out in heavy pants as he stomped his hooves impatiently.

The sun was high above her but there was not much time. She was already late.

Before her the land was changing from the cool misty hues of morning to the sharp bright colors of midday. The sun would soon begin its slow descent upon the horizon. Her shadow was already beginning to stretch out across the ground, as if pointing the way. The way to everything she wanted. The way to her freedom. The way to him. Behind her, the sun bore down on the horizon while its heat pressed at her back. Behind her lay the road back towards the only home she had ever known. To the family she loved. To the comfort of the familiar.

Lyanna relaxed her grip on the reigns and her mount leapt forward with barely a nudge.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It had started out as such a fine day.

The sun morning sun broke across the horizon and shown warmly down on the bustling caravan. Indeed, the weather had been accommodating for the entire journey as of yet. The land becoming lush and green, small smatterings of wildflowers became more numerous and the old gnarled oaks lining the king’s road began to give way to the brightly colored blooms of dogwood and Brandywines the further south they went.  Heavy cloaks were beginning to be discarded for lighter garments and an overall feeling of anticipation was coming over the group; the excitement one feels when about to reach their destination. Where past discretions are not prevalent and new ones can be easily discarded upon departure.

And when the destination was a celebration, a wedding no less. Well, energies were reaching a peak.

All the Houses of the North, great and minor, would be sending a man south in honor of the occasion and for the honor of their Lord Stark. But only a select few were given the honor to accompany this envoy. To accompany the Lady Lyanna to the Riverlands.

The major houses had sent their men for escort of course. Houses Glover, Hornwood, and Dustin all sent emissaries. Even House Flint of the Mountains would be in attendance, bringing with them the Wulls. Ryswell, Harclay, and Cassel were also given privilege. It was an impressive escort to be sure.

It was Airic’s first time to make such a journey. He had come with the party from House Cassel and had jumped at the chance. He had been living on the edge of the mountains as a part of the guard who watched and protected the roads from wilding raids and the like. Well, he was not a part of the actual guard. He was more of an errant piss boy, dressing down the horses at the end of the day and digging privies. Not exactly the most notable of tasks, but he worked hard and even the lord Martyn had taken notice, mentioning that he needed another page. And a page ususally led to a squire. Which meant better housing, better food, and better privledges.

But that was still a distant dream and Airic had a long way to go to prove himself.

Upon joining the procession to Riverrun, Airic found himself fulfilling the same duties he did in the mountains. Dressing down horses and digging shit ditches. It was something he was not very happy about but any reason to leave the mountain clans was fine with Airic and so he made do. Besides, he had already been making eyes at one of the maids. She had a small waist and wiggle to her walk that caused her tits to jiggle in such a way that it made Airic’s nethers itch.

Still, after several days of digging shit holes, Airic jumped at the chance for a change of pace. They had come to the last stretch of their journey. The company had taken the Kingsroad to the crossroads at Harrowtown, the lady had stayed the evening at the inn with a small group while the rest of the company camped just outside the town.  Riverrun was only a day’s journey from here. Or so they had thought. It would seem that the lady Stark had other plans.

She had decided that before arriving to Riverrun, she wished to make quick pilgrimage to the nearby Godseye. She did not wish to stay long, simply wanting to pay homage to the old gods that resided on the isle within. It would seem that she had decided that the rest of the party would continue the journey to Riverrun while she made her sojourn. She requested that a small escort accompany her. Squires were chosen and it was two squires that Airic had come upon arguing about who would accompany her.

“For fuck’s sake, find someone Dale, just not me. Get someone else.”

“There is no one else. You know what happened to Abel and Gerrick. They’re still mucking the stables.”

“Then why the fuck would you think that I would?”

“Because you are all that’s left Edric.”

“You can go to all seven bloody hells before I go. I done served my time on that watch.”

“Why are you carping so much? It’s a quick trip. We just follow her down there and then meet up with the main company on the way to Riverrun. We’ll be back before nightfall.”

Edric scoffed at this. “You know it’s never that simple Dale. It’s a sport for her.”

“Well somebody’s got to go!” Dale shouted exacerbated.

“I’ll go.”

The two squires turned and looked at Airic at the same time.

“Who the fuck are you?” the one called Dale demanded. “Wait, you’re the shit digger. What the hell does a shit digger know about riding?”

“No wait,” Edric spoke up, “he came with the guard from the mountains. You know how to ride boy?”

Airic fought the urge to scoff. They were barely older than him and yes he could ride. Well enough that Ser Martyn was considering taking him as a page and then possibly as a squire, if he could prove worthy.  

“Yeah, I can ride.”

The squires looked at each other. The one called Dale shook his head. “No …” he muttered.

Edric, however, did not seem to have such reservations. “What?Now just wait a second,” Edric said as he grabbed the one called Dale by the arm and pulled him away from Airic. They stood with their heads together speaking in hushed whispers.

Airic did not care. All he could think about was how this could be his chance to impress upon Ser Martyn his worth. These squires were fools not to see the opportunity here. What was all the ruckus was about anyway? It was just a simple day trip to the godseye. It was morning yet, they could reach the isle and be back with the main caravan and at Riverrun before nightfall.  Perhaps he could even stop in Harrentown while the lady paid her respects, buy a little trinket for the washer maid. Maybe she would even be joining them.

A head popped out of the huddle. “Oy, piss boy, what house you with?”

Airic gave them a withering look. “I serve for House Cassel and will soon serve for lord Martyn.” It was probably a bit premature to say that last bit, but the piss boy comment had angered Airic. The three heads huddled together once more. Airic studied the three boys. They wore their House sigils on their tunics and surcoats. The one called Dale bore a yellow crest with two crossed long axes. While Edric bore a gold horses head on black and bronze.

After several more seconds passed by, the one called Dale finally broke away and approached. He looked down his nose at Airic.

“Have you ever really served a great house boy? This is no ordinary lady. This is the lord of Winterfells daughter we’re talkin about. It’s a great honor to a part of this escort.”

_Yeah? Then why aren’t you going,_ Airic thought to himself. “Yeah, I know. Ser Martyn Cassel himself wants me to squire for him.” Not exactly a lie ... it could happen.

“You see? He’ll be fine. You can’t stay out at those mountains and be pussy. It’s an easy trip Dale. This close to King’s Landing nothing’s going to happen. There’s guards all along the roads. He wants to go.”

“Yeah,” Airic agreed, “I want to go.”

“There!” Edric proclaimed. “Go on, give the boy a chance.”

Dale stood there silent for a second before he took a step towards Airic and stood over him. “Get your mount and meet me at the inn. Don’t fall behind. If you do, I’m leaving you.” He then turned and glared at Edric, “If he fucks up, it’s on you.” Dale whipped around and stalked off.

Airic had grabbed his mount and found Dale and two other guards that had been chosen, in front of the inn. None of them looked happy. After a moment lady Lyanna appeared on her mount and smiled sweetly at the four of them. Airic smiled back but when he turned to look at the other members of the group, he could not help but notice how they all seemed to look even more miserable. He could not understand why.

It did not take long for him to figure it out.

“Bloody fucking hell!” Dale spat as his horse danced about.

She had lost them rather quickly. As soon as they were at the edges of Harrowtown, her horse broke out into a trot and Airic overheard Dale mutter “Here we go” under his breath. After a moment she sped up to a canter, forcing the four men to push their mounts to keep up. Airic had almost closed the short distance behind her when the lady suddenly broke away to the right and tore into a full gallop, leaping over a small stream in the process. The sudden change in pace spooked some of the other horses and the men struggled to calm them. By the time they had regained control she led them on quite the chase. On the road, then off the road, then back to the road and then off once more cutting across the fields and through brush. The lady had set a good pace ahead of them and they spent the better part of the day playing this little game that she was winning easily.

It was rather embarrassing.

“Fuck!” Dale hissed again. “I’ll be mucking stables the rest of my damned life!”

  

* * *

 

 

Rhaegar stood upon the hill watching as the shadows began to stretch along the ground, long black tendrils inching further and further past him. The sun was low, staining the land in pink and gold. It was getting late.

Although he said nothing he could feel Arthur’s eyes upon him. Twice Arthur had come and stood beside him, saying nothing both times. Rhaegar never turned away. His eyes never left the horizon. He betrayed not a hint of the sea of emotions that churned relentlessly inside of him, till he was so tossed about by those squalls that he lost any sense of where the surface may be.

She would come.

There were moments atop that hill when Rhaegar felt as if his heart would pound out of his chest. What if she was unable to get away? What if she had changed her mind?

No.

She was coming.

Some movement on the horizon caught his attention and he squinted into the sun. She would be here. He believed with all of his heart she would be here. He had to. He would wait. He would wait all night if necessary.

The shadow appeared once more and Rhaegar found himself standing very still as he strained to see. Perhaps it was just some animal … perhaps … but it was moving fast. He watched as it rounded the top of the next hill and began its sprint down. Rhaegar let go a breath he did not even know he was holding. Without speaking a word, he spun around and after three swift strides, leapt upon his horse.

He had moved so quickly that Arthur had not even noticed till he was halfway down the hill slope. Arthur sprang up from where he sat, giving Oswell a sharp kick as he made for his own mount. Oswell gave a startled grunt and looked around confused for a moment before realizing that his friends were on their horses and spurring down the hill. Soon he too was racing behind them.

But Rhaegar never noticed. All of his attention was keenly focused on the figure that came galloping out of the sun. She was all he could see. Her hair whipped wildly behind her, adding to a beauty far more blinding than the sun. He could not reach her fast enough.

As they drew closer, Lyanna began to veer away from the Godseye and took a more southeasterly direction and Rhaegar guided his horse up alongside of hers. His heart beat at a pace that matched the thunder of the hooves beneath him. She rode hunched over her mount’s neck, as if she were one with her horse. He looked at her face, flushed from the adrenaline, raw, wild and glorious. This is what it meant to live, to be willing to do anything in this moment right now. They were free.

He caught some motion from the corner of his eye and he reluctantly pulled his gaze away from her to see Arthur on the other side of him. He was shouting and gesturing at Lyanna’s horse. Rhaegar looked back confused and then realized what had his friend so concerned. Her mount was covered in rivulets of sweat and was frothing severely at the bit. She had pushed it too hard. Had she run the entire way? She needed a new mount.

He called out her name but she did not react. It appeared to Rhaegar that she dug in deeper and pushed the stallion even harder. He called again but still no response. He had to do something or else she would run the beast into the ground.

Rhaegar signaled to Arthur who let up and maneuvered his horse to the other side of Lyanna’s and signaled to Oswell to get in front of them. Once in position, the three of them were able to slow the horses down enough for Rhaegar to reach across and pull Lyanna over to his own mount. Rhaegar thought she would have put up some sort of a fight over his interference, but she came willingly and seemed to almost collapse against him before her arms wrapped around his waist. Rhaegar held her close to him. Upon seeing that Rhaegar had her secured, Oswell and Arthur moved to each side of him, leaving Lyanna’s stallion to slow and drop behind them.

 

* * *

 

 

The four riders watched from the top of the hill. After what had seemed like an eternity of bickering about who lost who and who held who up the most, it had been Airic who suggested that they simply head for the godseye. They knew that was where she had planned to go in the first place, so it was more than likely that she would be there. They were not going to catch her anyway. A few more rounds of blame were passed around but at least they were moving again.

They went back to the main road and began to press hard. Airic did not believe they would get there before her but perhaps they could get there before she left. The last thing he needed was for it to get back to ser Martyn that he put the lady Lyanna in danger. This was not how he saw this day coming to an end. Airic had hoped that it could still be salvaged though. And for a moment it was. They had managed to catch sight of the lady again. They had come from the road when they found her again, riding hell bent for leather towards the godseye. The entire party began to feel hopeful.

That hope was fleeting.

They had just begun their own sprint towards the godseye when, not ten leagues from Harrenhall, a group of men fell upon the lady and plucked her off her horse and rode off and away. The four men had spurred their mounts hard but after a day of chase with the lady, they could not close the distance with the men and their fresh mounts. They could only watch them ride further and further away. They finally stopped at the top of the hill in defeat.

“That was ser Arthur Dayne.”

Airic, along with the other two men turned and looked at the one who spoke. He was a young knight from Barrowtown. From House Dustin going from the great gold horse head on his shield.

“What the hell are you talking about,” Dale panted, still reeling in shock.

“Ser Arthur Dayne,” the Barrowtown knight repeated, “I seen him before. The tourney at Storm End, he broke twelve lances against …” the knight looked back out where they had last seen the lady, “… against the prince.”

A silence came over the four men. The prince. Prince Rhaegar Targaryen. With is black as midnight stallion and ghost white hair. The four men looked at each other.

“Fuck me,” muttered Dale.

Airic agreed.


	11. Chapter 11

They arrived at a small camp after riding well into the night. Lyanna had spent the entirety of it pressed tightly against the prince. Some small part of her had protested, the way he had taken her, hauled her from her mount as if she were some helpless little waif. Some small part had railed against such presumption towards her person.

Perhaps it was exhaustion that kept her from objecting. The day had been long and it had been a trial to get there. She almost had not been able to make the journey on her own, her father having second thoughts. Ben had suggested that perhaps he could accompany her causing her to snap at him that she was a woman now did not want him constantly on her heels any time she went anywhere. She had regretted that almost immediately. Ben had been stung by her words. Lyanna decided he would be the first she wrote too once she was with the prince. But it had also worked because her father relented, agreeing that she was indeed a woman, soon to head her own house and therefore should get used to this sort of responsibility. It pained her to deceive her family so.

She spent most of the journey riding her own mount rather than in the fine wagon maester Walys insisted she ride in. He had convinced her father that she should have a caravan befitting her station as a true lady of the North. When the day of her departure came and she rode out on her own mount her father had simply raised an eyebrow at her. When maester Walys put forth the question as to whether there was something wrong with the caravan that had been provided for her to travel in, Lyanna replied,

“You agreed that the caravan should make the journey maester Walys, but I never agreed to ride in it.”

When the maester looked to her father, Lyanna expected him to deliver a stern reprimand and then carry her into the wagon himself. But instead he smiled and gave the maester a shrug of his great shoulders and said, “Spoken like a true lady of the North.” He then walked over to where Lyanna sat atop her horse and whispered, “Try not to vex your captors too much.”

And for a moment, for a brief moment, Lyanna faltered. Her father’s gaze held nothing but pride and trust. A most undeserving trust. The swell of emotion almost overtook her and she struggled to keep her head afloat.

She had sent ravens while she traveled on the road, keeping them abreast of her progress. And when the day finally came, she found herself spending most of it trying to confuse her father’s bannermen. She had to work at gaining distance from them as there seemed to be one or two in their number who were somewhat accustomed to her tricks. Back and forth along both on and off the road went, even reaching the crossroads and sending the men to find her a suitable offering for the Isle, and then taking off once more, leaving her escort scrambling. She had ended up riding harder and longer than she had originally intended, pushing her own mount too far, till he frothed at the bit and his neck was coated in sweat. Still they were behind her. Far too close.

It was not till she had crested that first hill, when she saw him in the far distance standing in the fading glow of the sun, that she had found her resolve. She could not make out his face from where she had been but she knew every detail of it. He had not moved at first, perhaps he had been stunned himself, but he was alongside of her soon enough. It was when she saw him again that she remembered, feelings that had been dormant flared once more. The excitement, the longing, the insecurities.

She had been running on adrenaline and sheer will.  Running on the anger at what was expected of her, the bitterness at being powerless to stop it, and the anticipation of being with the only man she would ever love. Damn the cost. Any price would be worth paying to be here, with him, free.

At some point she had thought she heard him call out her name but she never turned. Instead she gripped the reigns tighter, pushed the stallion harder. She could not stop now, there was no time, she had to keep going.  

He had reached for her and pulled her from her mount and she was content to let him do it. She had held herself to him and allowed him to cradle her. She buried her face against his chest. He smelled like salt and stone, like the sea before a storm. She looked up and could see the light flutter of pulse in his throat that beat the same steady rhythm she could feel in his chest. His arm gripped around her tight and held her close. She remained awake as they continued on. He would occasionally call out to one of the men with him, who would then break off and return after a short time. They never stopped moving though. How far they had gone or where they were was beyond her at this point. She only knew that they never stopped moving till they reached the camp.

It was not till they finally came to a stop and the prince dismounted before her that she realized that she had never once looked away from that fluttering spot on his throat. She blinked as she looked around, seeing her surroundings for the first time.

It was dark but Lyanna knew they were in some sort of a small clearing within a dense pocket of trees. Somewhere in the darkness she could hear the soft babble of a stream and the occasional nicker and snort from the horses. Although she could not tell in the dark, she felt that they must be a good distance from any road or village. A tent was raised in the middle of the camp and a small fire was going. It reminded her of the camps she, Ned, and Ben would make when they went hunting.

“Lyanna …”

A voice called to her softly and she half expected to look down to see Ned before her. Eyes of a color so striking peered up at her in the dark and she remembered it could not be Ned. Ned was not here. She looked at the face that held those eyes, far too beautiful to be any relation of hers. He held his arms out towards her, gently taking her about her waist to help her down.

_I can do it myself,_ she thought in protest, but she found herself unable to form the words as he set her down upon the ground. He placed his arm around her and she felt herself being led towards the tent in the middle of the camp.

The inside of the tent was modestly arranged. Candles bathed the interior in a warm glow. A small table with two short stools sat off to the side and a pallet that was raised slightly off the ground was towards the back with a trunk on the opposite side. Lyanna took in her surroundings as if in a trance. She stood in the center of the tent, a strange numb feeling coming over her. Somewhere in her peripheral, Rhaegar moved around the tent. It seemed to her that he was speaking, something about needing to ride back out, about scouting and returning soon. That someone would see to her needs. At some point he stood before her and she was staring up into those eyes again. Those eyes she had desired for so long to see. Her heart began to flutter and she felt as if she were starting to wake. But then he pressed his lips to her forehead and walked away and out of the tent and Lyanna was left standing alone.

* * *

 

 

Rhaegar’s fingers tapped impatiently atop the pommel of his saddle as his great black warhorse stomped readily on to the ground in response to his master’s feelings. Rheagar let out a slow breath and soothed the stallion with a pat on the side of its neck. He needed to calm himself. He would see her again soon enough. Indeed, they would soon have their whole lives together. He could wait a moment longer.

It had been what felt like an eternity since he had last held her in his arms. It was as if some part of him that had been lost was found once more and he was now complete. He found himself reluctant to let her go for fear he would wake from a dream. It tore at his heart to leave her upon arriving to the camp. But there was still tasks to be done. They had left much later than anticipated and would now have to push harder on the morrow. Myles and Robert had already rode ahead to raise the next preselected camp site. They had set traps before leaving so that they could have provisions tonight. He had instructed Arthur to make sure there were no signs of the camp or their path to it and to remain close to Lyanna. He would have preferred to remain himself but his friends had already put their own lives and reputations on the line to aid him in this undertaking, he did not wish to give them any more undue stress with menial tasks.

He had the tent prepared with fresh clothes and linens for her. He had told her that water would be brought if she wished it and food as well. He had babbled an apology about the sparse surroundings and rambled about how he would find anything she needed. He had sounded like some daft fool the way he went on. He finally stopped talking and just stared at her, overwhelmed with joy at having her here with him and bitterness at having to leave for even a moment. But that would all change soon.

She was here, with him, in his arms again. And this time forever. There would never be a need to be parted from her again.

A low whistle pulled his attention back to the dark of the tree line before him. He answered it with a whistle of his own and watched as Oswell emerged like a ghost in the dark.

“She was followed but I don’t think they got very far after we cleared the godseye. Especially if their horses where in a similar condition to hers when she got to us.”

Rhaegar nodded. “Tracks?”

“I’ve cleared any trace of us,”Oswell spoke as he mounted his own horse, “and laid false trails. Enough to confuse them anyway.”

Rhaegar turned his horse and began the careful and agonizingly slow pace back.

It was in the very late hours of night, or perhaps the wee hours of the morning depending on how you looked at it, when they finally arrived back at the encampment. The fire was very low but Rhaegar could make out Arthur in the shadows. Another ghost in the darkness. He walked over and met them as they dismounted and began to remove their saddles and bridles.

“Any tagalongs,” Arthur asked as began to attach a feed bag to the horse’s harnesses.

“None,” Oswell answered as he set down the saddle.

“Tracks?”

“Taken care of,” came Oswell’s deceptively calm reply.

“And you covered your return yes?”

“Are you trying to piss me off,” Oswell peered over his horse at Arthur.

“I was just wondering if I should set up a perimeter,” Arthur blinked innocently, “since I could hear you lumbering through the woods a good league away.”

“Gods you nag like my mother. Did you manage to get off your ass and fix anything from those traps?

“There might be a bit left for you,” Arthur shrugged, “a few bones to pick.”

Oswell muttered a few choice curses at Arthur but Rhaegar did not hear them. They were faint noises in the back ground as he hurried through his final tasks of the night. His eyes kept darting to the tent in the center of the camp, noticing the faint glow that came from within. Perhaps she was still awake. Perhaps she had waiting up for him. He brushed the hind quarters of his horse briskly, causing the stallion to give an annoyed snort. A hand upon his brought him to a halt.

“I have this your grace,” Arthur said as he took the brush from his hand.

“Ah, yes thank you.” Rhaegar stepped back. “What of –”

“We will take care of it your grace,” Arthur assured.

“Yes good, well … If you … if there is … I will just … in a moment.” Rhaegar stammered at the two men as he backed up slowly towards the center of the camp before just turning around and hurrying towards the tent. Upon reaching it he pushed the flap back and stepped inside.

The inside was largely undisturbed since he had left Lyanna in here but for the tent was now dimly lit by a single lone candle on the table. The linens on the cot lay untouched, all still neatly folded and in place. If it had not been for her cloak discarded in the corner one would not have known anyone had been here at all.

But Rhaegar did know better. A knew feeling began to come over him, slowly extinguishing the excitement that had been building throughout the night. A horrible creeping feeling that wormed him with dread and fear.

“Lyanna,” his voice quavered softly. Was she gone? Was she taken while they were unware?

“Lyanna,” he called again simulatiouly squashing the urge to panic. They were not followed. They could not have been followed. They had been too careful, everything meticulously planned. A noise from the far corner of the tent pulled his attention. He turned to see what he had previously thought was a discarded cloak. But upon further inspection saw that it had not been simply discarded absently in the corner. In fact, it had not been discarded at all. She was still wearing it.

Lyanna sat curled up in the corner of the tent, her knees drawn up against her chest, her arms wrapped around her legs, her head buried in her arms, crying.

Rhaegar rushed across the tent and knelt before her.

“Lyanna? What is it? What is wrong? Are you hurt?”

He silently cursed himself for his thoughtlessness. He should have seen if she had been injured or had some pain after a long day of hard riding that went well in to the night. Of course there would be some discomfort.

But the only answer that came from Lyanna was the soft sound of her muffled sobs.

Rhaegar looked her over from where she sat and did not believe she had suffered some sort of injury. At least none that he could see for her face remained buried, her only movement was the small jerking motion of her shoulders. If she was not hurt then what could it be? The soft whispery fingers of doubt began to once again pick at his mind.

_She is regretting her decision_ , he thought. _She does not want to be here, not with me. I am a fool. A selfish blind fool. A fool who stole some girl away from her home and for what? Because I couldn’t live without her? Because of some ridiculous dream? Because I couldn’t stand the thought of her in another man’s arms? She wishes to leave me, and I deserve to be miserable and alone._

“Lyanna,” his voiced came out a rasp, every word painful, “Lyanna … do you … regret … if you are unhappy, if you have … if you wish to go home, you have but to say it … and I will return you.” Rhaegar squeezed his eyes shut as every word ripped apart his being. Would he? Would he be able too? If she wished it he would let her go, even though he would succumb to the grief and withdraw from the world. Would this be the beginning of his own madness he wondered.

“Lyanna,” he forced himself to speak once more, “do you wish to go?”

When she did not speak he opened his eyes to see her looking at him. Her own beautiful grey eyes red rimmed and wet with tears, her beautiful face flush from crying, he thought his heart may break.

“No,” she gasped between breaths.

“No,” she repeated as she fell over into his arms, pressing her face into his neck so he could feel the fresh tears that began to fall.

“No,” came her muffled voice between her soft sobs against his skin as his own arms wrapped tightly around her.

“Never,” was her answer as he held her on the floor of the tent as she wept and wave after joyous wave of relief came over him.

Rhaegar had never been so confused in his life.

 

* * *

 

 

He could not say how long he sat on the floor of that tent holding her until his arms and legs screamed in protest. He held her till the ragged pattern of her breathing steadied and slowed to the gentle rhythm of sleep. He had lifted her up at that point and lay her in on the pallet so that she could rest. He then stepped outside.

He blinked as he stepped out of the tent. The air was cool and damp against his pounding head and the sky had taken on the wet slate grey colors of morning. First light had not yet broke but there was enough light for Rhaegar to see the camp Arthur and Oswell had already prepped for their departure at first light and now sat around a small fire as they waited. Rhaegar walked over to where they sat and lowered himself down next to them.

Oswell and Arthur simply glanced at each other. Arthur put a few items on small plate and offered it to Rhaegar. Rhaegar took the plate from Arthur and stared at it.

Oswell spared another glance at Arthur who looked at Rhaegar with concern.

“Your grace …” Arthur let the question hang in the air.

“She was crying,” Rhaegar finally said, still looking at his plate puzzled.

Arthur and Oswell looked at each other.

“Your grace?”

“Crying,” Rhaegar repeated. “I went to the tent, last night, and she was sitting … crying.”

“Was she hurt?” Arthur asked.

“No.”

“Perhaps frightened,” Arthur offered.

Rhaegar smiled slightly. “Nothing frightens her,” he said softly.

Arthur hesitated. “Does she wish to go home?” he finally asked.

“No. At least, she said no but … I am not certain.”

Oswell gave a low chuckle from the other side of the fire. “Gods. I keep forgetting just how bloody awful the two of you are when it comes to women, much less people,” he mused.

“And I suppose you are,” Arthur said somewhat incredulously.

“Yes actually, in this instance I believe I am.” Oswell gave them an amused look and shook his head. “You two gits are too far south to know anything, but me, well it just so happens that being from the Riverlands gets me privy to a few things. Specifically the North.” Arthur and Rhaegar continued to just look at him. Oswell shook his head. “They rarely ever leave. Northerners. They hardly ever leave their mountains or castles or caves or whatever the fuck it is that they live in. They hate people coming into it just as much, but the fact is they hate leaving it more. They hardly ever leave. They think bad things happen to Northerners who go south. Walter has been doing trade with them for years and to get them to come down past the Twins is like pulling teeth.” Oswell looked at the other two.

“And ....” Arthur prompted.

“And,” Oswell continued somewhat exacerbated, “you have a young northern woman here who has just left everything she has ever known. The only home she’s ever known, the only family, the only land and people. She more than likely won’t ever see them again, at least not anytime soon. And if she does, I can’t imagine it will be that pleasant, what with how she left. The north remembers isn’t just a saying up there.” Oswell stood up and began to kick dirt over the fire. “She’s sacrificing more than we know.”

“Thank you for that most illuminating civics lesson Oswell,” Arthur said dryly.

Oswell simply shrugged. “It’s probably best that what she’s done is hitting her now rather than later.”

“Oswell –,” Arthur began only to be interrupted by Rhaegar.

“No Arthur, he is right. Oswell is right. We will let her rest for now.”

“Are you sure that –”

“Just for a moment Arthur, not long. Just a moment.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

All three men turned to see Lyanna standing a short distance behind them. Arthur and Rhaegar jumped to their feet while Oswell took an almost cautionary step back. The three men cast guilty looks between each other, wondering just how much she had heard.

Lyanna for her part stood silent before them. She gave Arthur and Oswell a quick run over before looking at Rhaegar.

“I am ready when you are your grace.”


End file.
